


Cracking Glass

by bleedingpens



Series: Cracking Glass [2]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Torture, Violence, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:28:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedingpens/pseuds/bleedingpens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where color is illegal and the price of freedom could be your life, 16-year-old Contemplation Revolver attempts to keep herself alive as long as possible, all the while taking down the super-company BL/ind. She soon learns the fight is more than a couple of bad guys and some guns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Troublemaker

Contemplation Revolver was really fucking bored.

She had been wandering around Zone 5 for two days. Being warned that the place was crawling with draculoids, she took her chances and headed out. Much to her non-excitement, she hadn't even encountered one. It was boring and a waste of her time. 

Not that she could really be doing anything else, but y'know.

She sighed and started towards her hiding place. It wasn't much, just an abandoned building that gave her a place to put herself when the sun went down and the static crawled out. Stepping through the wearing fence, she made her way into the building and plopped down at the very second her transmitter buzzed against her leg. She yanked it from her belt and spoke into the mouthpiece.

"Revolver speaking. What's up?"

"Hey." It was Party Poison, one of her friends from the Zones and the leader of the Killjoys. "How's your assignment going?"

Revolver leaned against the wall she was sitting against and slid her hand through her tangled hair. "Stupidly. There's nothing here. It's empty. I don't even know why this was decided-without my opinion, might I add." 

He ignored her snide comment and continued. "Empty? Weird. It's usually-"

"Crawling with dracs. I know." she interrupted, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah. Just keep a look out and be-"

"Careful." she finished. "I know."

He laughed, a short snicker that made her grin. "Watch your tone, fucker." He said and she heard the click of a lighter and an inhale.

"Make me, asshat." 

"Ooh, you're gonna pay for that when you get home."

"Don't you have dracs to kill or something?" She said, eyeing the setting sun. Her least favorite part of the night was creeping closer.

"Yeah. Actually I think Ghoul is trying to rob Kobra of all his carbons in poker. Gotta make sure they don't kill each other. Just keep your gun close." He said. 

"Yeah, I know. 'Night, Poison." She crossed her legs and slid an arm behind her head. 

"If you get too scared out there alone, don't be afraid to call, okay?" He said. She could tell by his tone he was trying to be cautious. 

"Yeah." She mumbled, rolling her eyes but appreciating the gesture. She just wished they would realize she wasn't a freaking kid anymore. She carried a gun like them, and had killed as they had. She was just...smaller. 

"Signing off. See ya in a few days, darlin'." He said goodbye and the transmission ended. 

Revolver sighed and watched as the sun slowly slid down, leaving the desert cloaked in a deep red. She supposed it was pretty, except for the fact the sun disappearing meant nighttime. And nighttime meant a bad time for Killjoys like Revolver. It meant hours spent with a gun clutched to her chest and shallow breathing, and almost no sleep. Unless she was home. If she was home, she could hear Ghoul's slow, steady breathing in the cot across from her and that made her feel okay. But out here she was alone.

Apparently, not alone enough. As soon as she had hung her transmitter back on her belt, two loud shots fired past her ear.

She yelped and her hand flew to her gun holster, tugging her blaster out and aiming it at the intruders. Three dracs stepped into her alcove and turned to her. She didn't even think, taking out two with quick pulls of the trigger. The third drew it's own white gun and fired, but the shot slid past her shoulder as she threw herself forward to duck out of the way. Sliding forward, she hooked her leg around the ankle of the drac and pulled back. It fell forward with a grunt and she slammed her gun into the back of it's masked head. It slumped over, blood leaking from under the white disguise. 

She momentarily found herself reaching for the mask, to pull it off and reveal who was underneath, but stopped herself and stood up. If there was anything she had learned from all her training, it was that a Killjoy never unmasks a draculoid. You never know who will be underneath. 

She brushed some dirt off her pants and grabbed her pack. She'd have to find someplace else. She holstered her gun and slid her hands into her pockets after shouldering her dirty backpack. That was enough action for one night. 

As she exited the building, leaving the three bodies behind, she watched the moon rise over the empty desert. It doused the Zone in a pale glow, complete with blinking stars and a silent breeze. Her mind wandered to thoughts of the safehouse in Zone 3, where her four best friends were probably sitting around and pouring over maps and sketches. She could almost see them: Jet with his elbows leaning on his knees and his messy curls in his eyes as Poison pointed at something and talked. Kobra leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head, his expression unreadable. Ghoul with a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth, eyeing Poison in a way only Revolver knew about when he thought the other couldn't see. 

She momentarily wished she was there with them, warm and well-fed, surrounded by the enclosing scent of nicotine and sun-marked skin, leather and dirt. The smell of a home she had called her own for 7 years now. But she knew she wouldn't be there forever. She had to find her own way, all that philosophical shit Poison was always rambling about. 

She climbed a dark, rotten stairwell in a faraway building she found at the edge of the Zone. The spray-painted door indicated it was safe for Killjoy use. It also meant it was a target for draculoid sweeps, but she was too tired to care. Finding an empty room at the top, she walked to the corner by a dirty window and set her backpack down. She pulled a blanket out, one she had snuck from her room, and pulled it over her legs while she set herself up for the night. 

Revolver laid her gun next to her, curling her fingers around it and allowing herself to feel the weight of it in her palm. She laid back and pushed her backpack under her head, tucking all her limbs under the blanket. She was exhausted, but knew better than to expect a quick falling asleep. As she watched the cobweb against the window flow in the stagnant breeze, she gripped her gun closer to her and closed her eyes. 

Maybe sleep would come after all.


	2. Planetary (GO!)

Revolver woke up the next morning with an ache in her shoulder and a gun pointed at her face.

She blinked groggily a few times, to see if she was just dreaming. But when the long white cylinder didn't disappear, she came to the conclusion she was awake.

And in very big trouble. 

The gun trained on her soon became ten, then twenty as the draculoids filed in. She kept her eyes glued to the original gun, slowly sitting up and letting her blanket fall on her lap. She kept her hand under her leg, gripping her own gun tightly, and waited for someone to move. 

Twenty pairs of eyes were drinking in every inch of her and she swallowed thickly. Her brain was searching, clawing through everything she knew to try and find a way out of this. So far she had come up with nothing. Every situation ended with her brains splattered against a wall. 

Her eyes flickered to the window that sat by her left shoulder. If she jumped up quick enough, could she throw herself out and survive the fall? It wasn't too high, right? 

She switched her gaze to the draculoid with the gun pointed at her, trying to see just how serious he really was. Seven years out here had given her enough information to tell an experienced drac from an inexperienced one. This one held it's gun steady, but she detected a slight tremor in it's legs. In fact, almost every surrounding drac appeared uneasy. She frowned. Twenty dracs to kill one measly Killjoy?

"Get up." The draculoid said in a gruff tone. Revolver didn't move and raised an eyebrow. 

"I said, get up!" It shrieked in the terrible, garbled speech draculoids used. Most of them had their vocal chords cut, but the ones who didn't were restricted to using grating tones and gravely speaking. 

Revolver shrugged and leaned back a bit. "I don't hear the magic word." She said, allowing the side of her mouth to turn up in a smile. 

"Stand!" It shouted, dropping it's gun to swing it's arm down in a wild grab at her vest, which was just what she hoped it would do. Her own arm shot up, grabbing it's wrist and yanking it to the ground. In a wild flash of movement, it's head cracked against the ground and she took her chance. She flew to her feet, loping her gun-ladened arm through a strap of her backpack and threw herself out the window. 

The fall was quick, fast and every bit as terrifying as she thought it would be. She dropped towards the dirt as her heart leapt into her throat and she tried to keep her grip on her blaster as she tumbled through the air. The ground approached faster than she was expecting, and her ankle twisted painfully as her feet, and eventually, the rest of her body crumbled onto the desert floor.

She bit back a yelp of pain and broke into a sprint, scrambling from her crumbled position into a run. She sped for the road, keeping a vice-like grip on her gun and backpack. Her radio bumped against her leg and she desperately searched for a hiding place. She could hear the pounding of the draculoid boots behind her, startlingly heavy against the sound of her own sneakers smacking the ground. Her eyes flickered to an overturned scrappy car, rusted and burnt from an obvious firefight. She took her chances and dove behind it, tumbling onto her shoulder and back. 

She had a split second to gulp in a breath and assess her ankle, which was throbbing painfully, before the deafening sound of nineteen blasters being discharged at once pounded against her eardrums. She squeezed her eyes shut, momentarily freezing. She had never been under this much fire without the Four, and she didn't know if she was going to be able to make it out. She cowered behind the wreck, staring at her gun as the surrounding areas began to smolder. The draculoids wouldn't let up. 

Revolver took a shuddering breath and pulled her bandana from around her neck, yanking it up to cover her nose and mouth. She put herself in overdrive and assumed a firing position, attempting to see what her chances were like. The draculoids were lined shoulder to shoulder, blocking any path to the roadway.

Her chances didn't look too good. 

She momentarily considered leaping to her feet and hauling ass until she got shot and died pathetically on the side of a stupid road. She was about to step out into the firefight when a familiar engine roar met her ears. 

Revolver grinned as the Trans Am screeched into sight and was pulled into one of those drift-stops Poison had insisted she watched over and over,causing most draculoids to stop firing and jump out of the way. It took the masked monsters all of ten seconds to realize that they should probably resume their gunfire, but by that time Ghoul had flown from the car like a madman and used one draculoid's face as a launch pad while using another's back as a landing cushion. 

Jet slid through the window and started taking out dracs left and right, with Kobra following behind. Poison leapt out too and sped over to where Revolver was starting to stand. 

"Revolver, are you okay?!" He said, his face a complete state of panic. He had that stupid worried look he had adapted over the last few years, the one where his brow line wrinkled together and his eyes did this weird thing where they reflected every bad thing Revolver had ever done in her life and turned them a tint of hazel and outlined them with amazingly long lashes. 

His hands somehow found their way to her face, pulling her mask from her nose and mouth. His eyes searched everywhere, obviously looking for some kind of harm. Revolver tried to move away but his hands seemed glued to each of her cheeks. 

"Poison, I'm fine-Fuck, how would I ever get hurt in my armpit, dude-No I didn't get shot, duh-Yes, I'm sure it's a possibility but I'm pretty sure I-Poison!" She made an annoyed noise when he found in necessary to check up her nose because "god damn it, you never know now stop moving!" 

Once he had deemed her alive and healthy-at least, healthy enough for a sixteen-year-old rebel soldier-he smacked the back of her head and ran his knuckles over her nose. She scrunched up her face. 

"Go get in the car. We'll finish here." He said quietly, giving her a small smile before whipping around and running into the firefight. 

She sighed and picked up her backpack. So much for learning to be independent. She high-tailed it to the car as quickly as possible, trying to keep her weight of her twisted ankle. She rolled her back off Jet's as he stepped back into her path, shooting him a grin over her shoulder as she went. He raised an eyebrow at her gimp but kept fighting. 

She slid through the car window and landed with an "Oof!" on the back seat. She swept her dirty hair from her eyes and watched the Four take off the remainder of the draculoids. Kobra and Poison were doing that weird brother thing where they were squared back-to-back, each one with a shoulder blade pressed into the others while they slowly walked in a circle, firing rapidly. They didn't speak a word to each other, just mirrored each other's movements and moved accordingly. It was fucking weird. 

As the firing died down and the smoke and dirt began to clear, Revolver poked her head up to watch the silhouettes of the Killjoys walking back to the car. She slid over the the middle of the leather seat and waited for them to come in. 

Ghoul dropped in first-literally. He decided to dive head-first and kind of somersaulted into Revolver's lap. 

"Hiya, 'Volver." He said, grinning crookedly and propping himself up on his elbows. "How was your spiritual awakening?" 

"Enlightening. Now get off me." He sat up and swung his legs forward, just as Kobra crawled in next to Revolver. Mikey-he was really the only one she called by his real name, he never seemed to care-was all elbows and knees which made him a painful seatmate. But Jet couldn't really fit in the back seat and Poison never let anyone else drive so that was that.

Kobra never really spoke much, which is why he and Revolver had connected so well when they met. The other three guys were so intent on having her speak, trying to get her to talk about what had happened instead of her choice to sit in bed and state at nothing for hours until she fell asleep. But Mikey was different. 

Mikey Way is the kind of guy to know when something's wrong but not pester to know what it is. So his time spent with Revolver was quiet. He would walk in, scoot her over in bed and lope an arm around her small shoulders and just sit. No talking, no questions, nothing. Just breathing and simply being. They had taken to each other very quickly. 

As he slid in next to her now, he offered her the small smile he reserved for her and Poison before slipping lower in his seat and closing his eyes. He was always quieter than usual after a fight, preferring to listen instead of talk. That's just kind of what he did anyways. 

Ghoul was always chattery and excited. He was like that anyways, but when he had adrenaline pumping and his trigger fingers were sore, he never shut up. Which was fine by Revolver. She was like Mikey: She liked to listen. 

Jet forced the passenger door open and ducked in, managing to fit his tall frame into the lower bucket seat. He immediately took to scanning the area and checking his transmitter. He tended to be the most serious and studious of the five of them. Ghoul said, usually with sadness in his voice, that he wasn't always like that. 

"He was always the light inside the dark, yknow?" Ghoul had said one night, when they were both up later than they should've been. It had been dark and warm, and the only light in the room was the red hot tip of Ghoul's cigarette and the paleness of the moon. "He was so happy and full of energy and carefree...and now that's all gone."

Poison came in last, literally keying the ignition when he only had one foot in the car. He was taking off before the door was even closed. Poison had adapted an attitude of constant vigilance and speed, which rarely stopped. He knew the position of power he held, and used it, but no negatively. Revolver couldn't imagine the Killjoys being led by anyone else. But with that came a sadness that never quite left his eyes, the sharp temper when he was frustrated, and the nights when Revolver had woken up and heard him quietly sobbing in his own room. He had an air about him that let you know he had lost so much but was still fighting so hard. 

Poison had been her hero since the moment he carried her from the burning remains of her house. 

She was pulled from her thoughts by a sharp elbow to the side. "Poison's talkin' to you." Ghoul said around his cigarette. His monster mask was pushed back onto his head and he looked breathless. 

"I said, how in the hell did you get yourself in that situation, Revolver?" Poison asked, looking at her through his mirror. Revolver shrugged. 

"I don't know. I just woke up and there was a gun pointed at my face." She said, picking at the tear in her pants above her knee. "I didn't expect it."

"Did you leave a fire going? Leave your transmitter on active?" Jet piped up from the front seat, not taking his eyes off the map stretched across his legs. 

"No and no. I didn't even think I was falling asleep." 

"How'd you get out?" Poison said, his tone unconvinced. Revolver sighed and explained everything: how she woke up, her tumble through the window, her mad dash to the overturned car. "Then you guys showed up. How did you even know I was in trouble? Not that I couldn't of gotten out." She added. 

Ghoul took a drag off his light. "Poison had a feeling. Doctor D called in with some reports of static anyways." 

"That's a pretty far fall. You didn't hurt yourself?" Poison's eyes were laced with worry and Revolver rubbed her throbbing ankle gently. 

Kobra cracked an eye open and followed her movements. He sat up and held out his hand. "Let me see."

"What? What is it?" Poison tried to turn his head around but Jet's look made him keep his eyes on the road. 

"It's nothing. I just landed a little wrong. No big deal." She tried to pull her pants leg down more. 

"Revolver." Kobra raised an eyebrow and she sighed, shifting and putting herself on one of Ghoul's legs so she could gingerly bring her leg up. Mikey took her ankle in his hands and felt it gently. 

"I think it's broken. Or at least, out of place." He pressed down a little to hard and Revolver let out a hiss of pain which quickly turned into a cough when she saw Poison's look.

They arrived at the diner (or as Revolver liked to call it, the DIEner) and unpiled from the car, although Revolver was immediately made to sit down so Poison could get a better look. Now that her adrenaline was wearing off, it was starting to hurt more. When Poison pushed her pant leg up a bit, she finally saw how swollen and purple it was. 

"Child, you are lucky the Doctor's in." Doctor D said when she was set down on the examination table in his office. It wasn't really an office; it was a room in the back with some radio equipment in the corner and a relatively clean table in the center. Various medical instruments were on the counters, along with bottles of weird liquids and some gauze. 

After working her dirty sneaker off, he assessed it and determined it not broken, but popped out of its socket. He would pop it back in and wrap it and she would be fine with a couple days. Which in Killjoy-terms meant she'd have to be ready for the next call to help a fight. 

Kobra sat next to her and held out his hand, which she took by the fingers and held tight. Doctor Death grasped her calf and foot and jerked her leg in opposite directions and a searing pain tore up her leg. 

Revolver cursed in about three different languages and nearly broke Mikey's fingers off. Doctor D wrapped in gauze and sent her out to the main room. 

She plopped down next to Ghoul and leaned into his side. He took a drink from his cup and laid his head on top of hers. "You okay, kiddo?" He asked quietly, in the voice Revolver liked to call the "Papa Frank" voice. The voice he used only occasionally, when it was four in the morning and they were the only ones up or when Revolver was upset about something or the like. 

"I'm okay. Thanks for saving my ass." She studied the tattoos that made his arms into beautiful masterpieces, items she felt like she could look at forever. 

"We'll always save your ass." He turned his head so his face was pressing into her hair. "You've had a long day. Are you tired?"

She shrugged. "Nah. Are you tired?"

He pressed her cheek to the top of her head again. "I'm always tired." He sounded so defeated it made Revolver's heart ache. Ghoul was one you could always count on to make you laugh, but even he broke sometimes. 

They all did.


	3. Love Your Friends, Die Laughing

Revolver was sitting out under the hot desert sun next to a rusting tool box and her best friend.

"Ax wrench."

She pulled it from the box and passed it to Kobra's outstretched hand. His long fingers closed around it and he drew his arm in again, disappearing under the hood of the Trans Am. The only visible part of him were his jeans and boots, dirty grey pants tucked into even dirtier leather. She was confused how the wearing laces even held them together.

The Trans Am had decided to sputter and make weird noises when Poison went to start it this morning, so he and Ghoul took the motorbikes to go chase a call while Jet was in his cave making something and Kobra was left with Revolver and a tool box.

"I don't even know how half this shit works." Kobra muttered, and Revolver heard a distant clang. "Fuck, is it supposed to bend like that?"

"Probably not." She answered, tugging at the collar of her vest. It was starting to stick to her neck. "Hand me that screwdriver. I'm gonna bang it into place." Mikey's hand appeared again and took the tool. A series of aggravated raps and clangs sounded, followed by some muffled curses and a sigh. "Don't break it," Revolver reminded him. "Poison'll kill you."

Kobra muttered to himself and threw the wrench out, which was quickly followed by him. He slid out and sat up, squinting his eyes against the sun and wiping off his oily hands on his jeans. His red jacket seemed to be getting more faded and worn by the day.

"Start it and we'll see if she runs." He said, standing and opening the hood. Revolver stood up and crawled into the front seat, taking the keys thrown at her and starting the car. It took a few hard turns of the key and a constant mutter of "C'mon, c'mon." from Revolver before the engine roared to life.

Revolver grinned. "Shift into neutral and crank the speed." Kobra yelled over the engine. She did as she was told and the Trans Am revved accordingly.

Kobra slammed the hood shut and surprised her by climbing in next to her, brushing off his hands. She stared at him and he raised an eyebrow.

"Well, what're you waiting for?" He said, leaning back in his seat with a casual grin. "We have to see if she runs right don't we?"

Revolver grinned crookedly. She had driven plenty of other cars, beat up pieces of scrap metal and engine parts. But never the Trans Am.

"Hit the red line, girl, let's go!" Kobra shouted, slapping his hands against his legs. Revolver keyed the ignition further and shifted into drive, taking off with the squeal of the tires.

She screamed in delight with Kobra whooping along side her as they tore down Route Guano, her dark hair flying in the wind. It was moments like these she was glad she cut it so short; the messy pixie cut allowed her to see better. She felt invincible, driving a fast car in the sun with her best friend next to her. The wind was howling in her ears and her mouth hurt from grinning but she couldn't of cared less.

She yanked the car into a turn, laughing when Kobra yelped and clung to the door. She sped back to the diner and executed a drift stop, mirroring the movements she had seen Poison do dozens of times. Dirt went flying everywhere, spraying the two Killjoys in even more dust, but they were too busy laughing to care.

"That was awesome." Revolver said breathlessly as she turned off the ignition and sat back. "We almost died, like, twice."

Kobra laughed and opened the car door to get out. "Nice driving, kiddo. That wasn't too bad."

"I have my moments." Revolver replied, getting out of the car herself. She looked up and towards the diner, where Mikey's gaze was glued.

Leaning with what appeared to be pained effort, a thin figure was struggling to stand. Kobra immediately drew his gun and started forward. "Wait, Kobra, drop it. It's a Killjoy." Revolver rushed over, against Kobra's protests, and caught the Killjoy as they started to fall forward.

It was a male Killjoy, his facial features defined even among the grime and dirt. His worn top-hat was falling forwards over his eyes, which were bloodshot and tired. He was thin, like most Killjoys were, but had some amount of muscle tone. Not that Revolver had been particularly looking, but a bit of his dingy white shirt had been torn open to reveal a lean chest and prominent hip muscles.

She caught him by the shoulders and helped him struggle into a standing position. "Are you a Killjoy? Or am I going to have to make Kobra shoot you?" She asked, and he blinked at her weakly.

"K-Killjoy. Please h-help me." He said, his lips dry and cracking. He shakily pointed to his side, where his shirt and jacket were soaked with dark blood.

"Kobra, help me get him inside." Revolver said, and Kobra holstered his gun and took one arm over his shoulder. Revolver took the other and helped him inside.

"Doctor D!" Revolver shouted as they helped the weak Killjoy onto the table. The Doctor rolled in and saw the bleeding man, immediately turned and gathered supplies.

"Looks like a shot to the side." Revolver said, removing the man's hat and pushing him onto his back. His forehead was slicked with sweat. Whether that was from exhaustion or infection, she didn't know. She hoped it was the preceding.

"What's your name, son?" Doctor Death asked as he rolled up his sleeves and ran his hands under the leaking faucet.

"At-Atomic Panic." Panic licked his lips and struggled to speak. "Br-Brendon."

"Comfortable enough already to use real names, eh sunshine? Don't you got a family to protect?" The Doctor rolled over to the table and took his pulse. Revolver pushed Panic's jacket, a worn maroon suit coat trimmed in black, from his shuddering shoulders and set to unbuttoning his shirt.

"I don't hav-have anyone left." He said, a trickle of blood running over his lips and down his chin.

"There's always someone." Revolver responded quietly, working his shirt off his shoulders and peeling it from his bloodied side. "There's no one. I'm al-alone." Panic croaked, his eyes starting to brim with tears. "L-Let me die." He tried to push her hands from his side, but she kept her gaze on his eyes.

"For now, you're staying alive for me." She stood back to give Doctor Death some room and held fast to Brendon's hand. "This may hurt a bit. Feel free to squeeze 'Volver's fingers, but try not to break 'em. Those little things are useful." Doctor D said, taking a bottle of bleach from his tray and some gauze.

He poured the bleach onto the cloth and pressed it into the Killjoy's side, and Panic clenched his teeth, yelling against them. His hand tightened around Revolver's. "You're doin' fine, kid. Almost done." Doctor Death said as he set to cleaning the wound out. Brendon's mouth flew open and he released a guttural scream. His legs stiffened and his boots clanged against the metal table.

Revolver winced and heard Kobra curse outside the door. The Doctor made quick work of his side, needle and thread flying through skin. "Revolver, patch it up." Doctor D commanded. "It's almost time for the midday broadcast."

"Yessir." Revolver took some spare bandage from the tray and sat down on a stool. Panic was trying to regain normal breathing, his thin chest rising and falling spastically. Revolver checked the Doctor's work, eyeing the new line of stitches that marked the pale flesh of the Killjoy, before unrolling some bandage and searching for tape.

"How bad was it?" Brendon asked breathlessly. Revolver helped him lift his injured side a bit so she could tape down bandage to the small of his back. "Not too bad. You're lucky it was only one blast." She unrolled the bandage and taped it right above his navel, checking to make sure it was snug. "Here. You're gonna need this. If it starts to bleed, come back okay? Don't do anything too crazy for a few days." She tossed him the roll of bandage and helped him back into his shirt.

While he was buttoning it up with shaking fingers, she filled a cup with water from the tap and handed it to him. Kobra walked back in and leaned against the counter. "Still keeping the hat, eh Urie?" Jet said, appearing from the doorway.

Panic looked up and he flashed a weak grin. "Always got a flair for the dramatic, remember?"

Revolver helped him into his jacket and onto his feet. She reached up and put the hat over his dirty brown hair, biting her lip worriedly. "Where are Poison and Ghoul?" Panic asked, stepping away from Revolver and rubbing his side gingerly. "They're still alive, right?"

Kobra's mouth turned up on the right side. "Yup. Alive and kicking, as per the usual. Going so fast?" He added as Panic started for the door.

"I-I should go. I've overstayed too long." He said, swallowing and tying his bowtie around the dirty collar of his shirt. "Thank you, really. I probably would've died in the dirt if it wasn't for you all." He sent Revolver a small smile and walked out the door, his boots clicking down the hallway until he exited through the front.

Revolver walked across the room and ran her hands under the murky water of the tap. "He's so different," Kobra said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "So much sadder."

"No shit, Kobra," Jet said, tossing a rag at Revolver. "Watching your best friends burn before your eyes has gotta be a bit of a stressor."

"Yeah, I know that, but-" Kobra was cut off by a bitter laugh from Jet. "How about you reply when you've got a leg to stand on, eh Mikeyway?" Jet crossed his arms and his face fell into a glaring frown.

"Don't call me that." Kobra said through gritted teeth. "Whatever." Jet rolled his eyes and left the room. Kobra's mouth set in a grim line and he leveled a glare at Jet's back as the older Killjoy walked down the hall and shut himself into his room. Revolver kept her gaze on her shoes and wiped her hands, watching the water turn red as it ran down the drain.

"The other boys should be gettin' home soon. Looks like we got a bout'a acid rain comin' in." Doctor D wheeled back in, and caught sight of Kobra's face. "Why the sour face, kid?"

"Nothing." Kobra said gruffly. "Come help me get the tarps fastened on, 'Volver."

"Take these. Don't want no dead KJ's on my hands tonight, right lil' lady?" Doctor Death handed Kobra two rebreathers and patted Revolver on the knee as he wheeled over to his equipment in the corner. "A'course not, Doctor D. We'll be right back." She took a rebreather from Kobra's outstretched hand and followed him outside.

The outside air was thick with toxicity, warm as always, and crackled with the static of an oncoming storm. Revolver pulled the rebreather over her face, fastening it in the back. The small mask covered her entire face, protecting her from the toxic air. Usually the air was breathable, but acid rain brought toxic oxygen with it. The mouth piece slipped into her mouth and she set to attaching the tarps over the open windows. Kobra was quiet, obviously fuming, and he angrily pounded a tarp into the wearing wood of the safehouse. Revolver stood quietly next to him, handing him what he needed before finally reaching up and stopping his shaking hand.

She finished fastening it herself and checked the others before the sound of an approaching car caught her attention. Ghoul and Poison drove up, the Trans Am wheezing from the toxic air, and unpiled from the vehicle. Ghoul kept his monster mask pulled over his head, since it was equipped with it's own rebreather, and rushed over to Revolver. He took her hand and pulled her inside, pulling his mask off as he shut the door behind them. Kobra and Poison quickly followed, removing their masks as well.

Revolver took hers off and looked out a window as rain began to patter the ceiling. "Well," Poison said, setting his MouseKat mask on a spare stool. "The one good thing about rain is it means no drac patrols. So no one is gettin' ghosted tonight." He ran a gloved hand through his bright red hair. "I'm going to go change."

Revolver felt a smile creep onto her face. As terrifying as acid rain was (it brought loud thunderstorms and crackling lightning, none of which she was a fan of) it always meant they were safe from the outside world. She could take off her uniform and pretend to be normal for a few hours. Kobra mentioned something about a radio, and he walked into the kitchen, his back still tense and angry.

"Let's get some different clothes on, yeah?" Ghoul started down the hall, motioning for Revolver to follow. She nodded and followed him into the room they both shared, making her way over to her own bed and pulling her small trunk from under it. "I swear, I don't think these pants have come off in at least two weeks. Which is depressing as hell, in case you wanted to know. They used to at least come off every three days. I need to get to bars more." He said, pulling his vest and shirt off.

"That visual was needed, thanks." Revolver said. Ghoul laughed and searched under his bed for a pair of pants, and Revolver watched the tattoos that inked his back move and form against his body movements. "I see the way you look at him, you know." She said suddenly, and he came to a halt in his movements.

"See me look at who?" He said carefully. She shrugged off her vest and undid her gun holster, setting them both on the bed. "Poison. I see you look at him all the time. When he's driving and his eyes are on the road, when he's working open a can of Power Pup, all the time."

He stood up and sat on the bed, leaning forward so his elbows were placed a top his knees. "How do I look at him, exactly?" He raised an eyebrow.

Revolver tugged her dirty mid-sleeve black shirt and purple tank top, tossing them both on the bed by her vest. "You look at him like...Like he's the only person in the room." She swept some dark strands of hair from her eyes and pulled on her black Fall Out Boy shirt. "Is it really that obvious?" Ghoul said in a quiet voice. She turned to see him staring at the ground.

"Not really. I'm just...good at reading people, I guess. Why, is it a bad thing?" She worked off her dirty grey skinny jeans and boots, shaking out her legs from the weeks of being confined in the fabric. A worn pair of blue jeans were inside her trunk so she shrugged and yanked them on, sliding her feet into her old sneakers.

"Kind of. I mean," He paused and stood, pulling a black t-shirt over his head. "Living out here...it's not an easy task, which you know. And being attached to someone is dangerous." He shrugged and sat back down, pushing his fingers through the front of his hair. "He doesn't think it's worth it. It's bad enough we're so close to you."

Revolver sat down next to him and saw his faraway, sad look. "You really love him don't you?"

"More than anything." His voice cracked on the end syllable. "By he doesn't want me. It's okay. I got more things to worry about." He took a deep breath and ran both his hands down his face.

Revolver sighed and stood up, tugging him to his feet. He placed an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek, leading them back to the main room. Poison waved lazily at them, his bare feet propped up on a table littered with papers. He had changed into his mid-sleeve black shirt and jeans, making his bright hair stand out even more.

"Nice shirt." A deep voice startled her from her right, and Revolver turned her head to see Murder Suicide looking at her with a grin.

"Shit, you scared me." She slipped out from under Frank's arm as he went to sit by Poison and gave Suicide a hug. "I haven't seen you around in a while."

He returned her hug before releasing her and shrugging. "Got a call from Kobra saying to make my way over before all the acid rain started so I brought Rev." Easy Revolution peeked his head out from the kitchen area and waved at Revolver. Suicide and Revolution had been friends for as long as Revolver could remember. Wherever Suicide went, Rev followed.

"Been staying out of trouble I hope?" Rev walked over and gave her a hug. Revolver loved getting hugs from Rev. He held on for longer than a second and always smelled really good. He hugged like you were about to fly away and his grip is the only thing that could keep you here.

"Of course I've been." She laughed when he took his fedora off and plopped it on her head.

"Eyo, Wentz you gonna help me with this or what?" Kobra yelled from the kitchen and Suicide rolled his eyes. "He's like an old woman." He said, winking at Revolver as he made his way to the kitchen.

"Patrick, you joining this poker game?" Poison waved his cards in the air. "I'm slaying Frankie."

"Speak for yourself, asshole, I've got a strategy." Frank said, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. Rev laughed in his giggly way and walked over, leaving Revolver to turn around so she could smack right into Jet's chest.

"Whoa, 'Volver," Jet grabbed her arms to steady her. Doctor D wheeled around them and over to the poker game, mumbling about "teaching those sorry kids a lesson". "Don't fall." She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. "Sorry Jet." She said.

"Listen, erm..." He scratched his chin where his stubble was growing in. "Sorry for being an asshole earlier." Revolver crossed her arms. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." She frowned up at him and he sighed, sliding a hand over his curls.

"Yeah. I'll apologize to him too." He sighed again and went to the kitchen.

Revolver sat down next to Patrick and set his hat back over his dirty blonde hair. She relaxed back into the couch and watched Ray talking under his breath to Mikey. Kibra seemed unamused until Jet said something that made his poker face break, and he nodded. Jet patted Kobra on the shoulder and grabbed a radio of the counter.

"Yo. we got booze!" Suicide crowed from the kitchen. He emerged with three dusty bottles of beer in each hand, distributing them among the group. Kobra held two.

Revolver was passed a bottle and she looked at Poison curiously. He looked a little unsure but shrugged. "What the hell, try it."

Jet popped the cap off hers and Pete held his in the air. "To survival."

"To survival." They repeated and the room was silent for a moment save for the sound of the staticky radio and swallows.

The warm beer slid down Revolver's throat and it began to burn. She sputtered and coughed, doubling over on the couch. "Fuck, that's nasty!" She hacked and set her beer down on the table. "Sh-Shit!" The room filled with laughter.

"It does kind of taste like ass, but I've had worse." Jet commented as Revolver wiped her mouth on her arm. Frank grinned around his cigarette. "At least we don't have to worry about you being an alcoholic now."

"If you pansies are done chit-chatting, I'd like to continue kicking Ghoul's ass in poker." Poison took another drink and waved his hand impatiently.

They played for a while until Rev ran out of carbons and Suicide refused to give him anymore. "What time is it anyways?" Pete asked.

"About three am." Jet responded, eyeing his watch. "This rain doesn't want to stop." Revolver said, jumping as thunder shook the house.

"Three? Shit, 'Volver you need to go to bed!" Poison looked at the young girl on the couch. "It's late."

"Not that late. Besides you guys are gonna stay up." She jumped again when lightning flashed outside the window.

"Yeah but we're older. You need your sleep, kiddo." Poison waved at her to stand. "Say goodnight and go to bed."

Revolver grumbled and stood up, momentarily pausing to determine if she was going to argue. Instead , she grinned and walked over to where Kobra was leaning against the wall. "My legs no longer work. Carry me."

He rolled his eyes but lifted her into his arms and settling her against his chest. Lucky for him, she was shorter and skinny. She laid her head against his shoulder and waved.

"Night, 'Volver!" Rev waved at her and Suicide blew her a kiss. Kobra walked her down the hall and felt her jump when the thunder rumbled again.

"You really don't like storms, do you?" He chuckled and nudged the door open. "It reminds me of bad things." She said quietly, suddenly feeling very small.

He went quiet and set her on the bed. "I forgot," he murmured, brushing her bangs from her forehead gently. "I'm sorry." She put her trunk on the floor. Her boots, uniform and gun went next to it.

"It's okay. I've been trying to forget too." She pulled off her jeans and shoes before grabbing a worn pair of sweats and sliding into them. Kobra knelt beside her bed when she crawled under the blankets. "Goodnight, kiddo." He kissed her forehead and smiled at her. "Don't let the draculoids bite."

"Goodnight, Mikey." She wrapped the blankets tighter around herself and he stood up. "We'll be right out here if you need us okay?" He said from the doorway. She nodded and he slipped out, shutting the door behind him.

The lightning cracked again and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight away the memory of that terrible night. She could hear the others laughing and talking in the main room. She focused on how happy they all were. They didn't have to worry about being attacked or any dying Killjoys tonight. The rain had created a blanket of protection for the one night.

But brought with it terrible memoirs Revolver had tried so hard to forget.


	4. Safe and Sound

**December 21st, 2012.**

If Frank had known how this day was going to end, he would have thrown himself off the bridge on his way to the studio that morning.

He had rolled out of bed at about 6:30, unable to sleep any longer. There was a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach as he pissed and ate some cereal in the shitty apartment he had rented for their stay in Los Angeles. He couldn't shake it, not even as he showered and pulled on his usual clothes before making his way out the door with his keys in his mouth.

The weather was normal for LA in the winter-sunny but pretty fucking cold. Certainly not Jersey cold, but cold nonetheless. He pocketed his keys in his jeans and shoved a hand through his hair. He figured he'd need to cut it soon. It was getting to the point of ridiculous sticking-upness (a word he just added to the long list of random things he came up with) and was forever knotting. Frank pushed his sunglasses up further and made his way to their studio, nodding to Mikey as he entered the same door.

"Yo, Mikes." Mikey gave him a small wave and looked a little worried. Ray was following closely behind, his fingers twirling a pen between his fingers.

"Ever get a feeling something's really off, Frank?" Mikey asked nervously, looking at the billboard above them nervously.

"What, like shit-I-left-the-stove-on off or fuck-some-shits-about-to-go-down off?" Frank followed the two inside and past the doors to their studio. "'Cause if it's the latter, I feel it too." Gerard was already inside, scribbling on some notebook with a cap clenched between his teeth.

Frank pulled off his jacket and stretched his fingers against his hand. "What're we going to do today, man?" Ray asked as he passed Frank a guitar to warm up. Frank took the strap over his shoulder and absently played some chords, watching for Gerard's response.

Gerard looked up and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. "Backing vocals and rhythm guitar. That means you, Frankie." Frank nodded and pushed his hair from his eyes. "For which songs?"

"Let's start with Planetary, since that one's pretty much solid." Gerard responded. "Then we can-" He cut off when the room shook a bit.

"What was that?" Mikey stood and walked over to the door before being thrown backwards as the room jolted again. Ray caught him and helped him stand. Gerard strode across the room and peered out into the hallway.

"Gee, what's going on." Frank said nervously, panic rising in his chest.

"It's probably nothing. An earthquake, maybe?" Gerard sounded unsure. The four guys jumped as a panic alarm sounded shrilly throughout the building.

"Gee," Mikey said in a high-pitched panicked voice. Ray pushed Frank's jacket into Frank's arms and took Mikey by the shoulder.

"Guys, lets go." He said, nervousness creeping into his voice. Frank nodded and followed as Gerard and the guys filed from the room. He was not prepared for what he met outside the record company. Fire. Fire everywhere. There were people screaming, people running and loud bangs that sounded like a laser going off. Frank looked around in shock when he saw the strange men in white vampiric masks wielding guns. He was stuck to the spot. "We need to go." Ray said, startling Frank from behind.

"Now!" He broke out into a sprint, pulling Mikey behind him. Frank turned to Gerard, who was staring in absolute terror at the burning buildings.

"Gerard, come on!" Frank yanked on his sleeve, but he refused to budge.

"Lindsey...Linds and Bandit, Frankie," He turned to Frank with panicked eyes. "We have to go get them, we have to find them!"

"There's no time, come on! We'll get them later, lets go! You want to find them? You have to be alive to do that, now fucking move!" Gerard seemed to come to his sense and he took off with Frank in tow.

They wove through the people as quickly as possible, Gerard following Ray's bouncing hair through everything. Frank stumbled and hit the ground, hissing as his knee skinned against the sidewalk. Gerard yanked him to his feet and kept running, swerving as a laser shot past his ear. "G-Gerard, that almost h-hit you!" Frank sputtered. Gerard ignored him and kept his grip on Frank's hand tight.

Ray ducked into a building with Mikey right behind him. Gerard pushed Frank in first and slammed the door shut behind them. "What the fuck is going on?!" Mikey said, panic evident on his face. Gerard just stalked past him and fished his phone from his pocket, his mouth set in a grim line.

His hands shook as he unlocked it and peered at the screen. "No signal. The cell towers are down."

Frank sat down hard on the cold floor and pushed his hands against his face. "Jamia, Lily, Cherry..." He mumbled, his grip getting tight in his wind-tangled hair.

The other guys were talking, but Frank was numb. L.A. was on fire and there were gunshots and screaming and people dying and he had no idea how his family was doing or what in the hell was going on. He felt acid rise in his throat and he whipped around to puke onto the floor. Vomit dribbled off his chin as he started to cry uncontrollably into his hands.

"Frankie, Frankie, calm down it's going to be okay." Gerard materialized at his shoulder and stroked the hair at the nape of Frank's neck. Frank's sobs came out in broken, hiccuping gasps as his chest tightened and his heart crawled into his throat.

"I think it's Better Living."

Frank looked up at Ray with a confused expression. "Better what?"

Ray peeked outside of the window and winced. "Y'know. Better Living. The aftermath is secondary. Remember?"

"Those weird ass billboards. And the peppy chick who kept coming into the record company." Mikey nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

"Think about it," Ray ventured, beginning to pace. "The white cars, the white guns, the white everything. They wanted a cleansing, didn't they?"

"Yeah, but I thought they were a bunch of psychos." Frank wiped his mouth and took a deep breath. "Like those people who come to your door and tell you you're going to hell."

"Apparently not." Gerard said quietly, pulling a stark white pamphlet from his coat pocket. It was slightly crumpled and torn from the running, but he smoothed it out across his lap and began to read:

Gerard mumbled under his breath. "Better Living Industries; Your key to a better tomorrow...The aftermath is secondary...one pill a day keeps the unhappiness away...Battery City opening December 22nd, 2012...mandatory cleansing the day before..." He looked up at his bandmates, who looked two times as terrified as they did before. "What the fuck?"

"Battery City?" Mikey looked confused. "Where's that?" Gerard straightened out and pulled Frank to his feet.

"I don't know, but any movement that calls lighting a city on fire a cleansing is not a movement I want to be a part of." He straightened Frank's coat and looked at Ray. "We need a car."

\---

**December 31st, 2012.**

Ten days can change a lot.

Gerard-or as Frank was supposed to call him, Poison-had found a 1979 Trans Am lying on the side of a road when they were leaving L.A. and had managed to hot-wire it and make it run. They headed upstate, and somewhere along the way Frank fell asleep against Mikey's shoulder. When he woke up, they were running out of gas and the radio had turned to static. Luckily, Ray had spotted a gas station not too far up ahead and they managed to get there right as the car died. A strange man in a leather jacket and aviators had stepped out of the diner next to it with a bright green gun aimed at them.

Needless to say, Gerard talked him down and they went inside. Doctor Death Defying, as he referred to himself, grimly told them that the apocalypse had begun and they could either join his team or get their brains splattered across the floor.

They joined his team.

Hours later, they had new outfits and new names: Party Poison, Jet Star, Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul. They were equipped with guns and a hellfire that burned in their stomach at the thought of taking down the people who destroyed everything they knew. It was a little weird at first, practice fighting with each other and using cans for target practice. If anything, it kept them occupied so they could try and forget that they didn't have a family anymore, or that the place they called home was burned to ashes. Frank felt like he was in a daze, practicing chokeholds and blind shooting and spending each night huddled in a room as he listened to the horror stories being told on the radio.

But among all the fighting, death and destruction can a small ray of hope. A rebellion was forming. People were stepping out of destroyed houses into the ashy sunshine and glaring down the barrels of white guns, daring them to fire. The numbers increased each day: from ten to twenty to thirty to a hundred. Take a walk around the destruction that was named the Zones and you could see kids sitting on wearing porches with paint cans and half-inked white guns, wearing all sorts of crazy outfits and sporting nine thousand colors of hair. Most of them were orphans, or had siblings and friends. But they were united and passionate, which was exactly what a rebellion needed.

Frank and his friends were given a title: The Four Fabulous Killjoys. No one knew where the term was coined, but it stuck. Killjoys became an infestation that couldn't be stopped. Their numbers grew daily, but then the draculoids arrived.

Better Living, more commonly known as BLI, had sent in their troops to put a stop to the Killjoys. Everything they embodied threatened the BLI way of living. Draculoids began to file in, strange masked men with vampiric faces and white jumpsuits, and the Killjoys had to learn to fight. Doctor D set up a pirate radio station in the Diner to keep Killjoys informed and up-to-date on the sweeps of the Zones. His greeting-'Look alive, sunshine,'-became a wake-up call for every Killjoy with a radio.

The Four were beginning to settle into a routine; wake up, grab food and their guns, and go out to aid every Killjoy they could. Everything was thrown into a loop on December 31st.

Ghoul had rolled out of bed around 7, unable to sleep. He pulled on his uniform-dark jeans, a yellow mid-sleeved shirt and a green vest embroidered with patches. He yanked on his boots and heard Kobra shift in the bed across from him. Grabbing his gun holster, he made his way out to the main room where Poison was already sitting at the table. He had dyed his hair two days ago to a bright red, and it stood out stark against his blue jacket. They sat in silence while Poison absently sketched in his notebook, his eyes faraway and unfocused. The yawn from down the hall indicated Kobra had woken up, and he shuffled down the hall moments later as he pulled on his red jacket. His normally dark hair was a sandy blonde and shaved up on each side. He spoke to neither of them and poured himself coffee.

Frank sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Outer Zones today, right?" Poison nodded, looking up from his notebook.

"You boys better get out there fast," Doctor D said, walking in with Jet behind him. "The draculoid presence is going to be heavy today." Poison nodded again and stood.

"We'll be back soon," Jet said as he watched Gerard's tense back exit the room. Poison was still not very adjusted. For the other Killjoys, he was the always-grinning leader with a joke behind every sentence and a swagger in his step. When he wasn't being watched, though, he was a completely different person. His eyes held so much sadness, and he held so much anger. The car started outside and Ghoul sighed, pulling himself to his feet and following his two friends out. The car ride was quiet save for Poison's constant tapping against the steering wheel.

They entered Zone Six, and the ruined houses just killed Frank's mood even more. It was hard to imagine these neighborhoods filled with families and smiling children when they were so broken now. His head smacked against the window as Poison took a sharp turn, and he cursed. "Fuck, dude what was that?"

"I saw something." Poison mumbled, taking another sharp turn. Ghoul tumbled against Kobra and looked out the window.

"There," Poison said, pointing ahead. There were thick plumes of smoke rising from a court ahead.

"Fire?" Kobra asked, confusion in his voice. "More fire?" Poison made a few more turns and entered the court. All of the neighborhood was destroyed, as Ghoul had expected. A house on the left side had flames flickering out of it's windows.

"We have company." Jet spoke up, pointing to a white car idling by the curb. Two dracs were getting into the back, and the rumble of the Trans Am caught their attention.

"Jet, Kobra, fend them off!" Poison yelled as the gunfire began. "Ghoul, you're with me!"

Ghoul raced inside with Poison behind him, hoping Ray and Mikey could hold the dracs off. The house was destroyed, and blood streaked the wooden floors. Fire was raging in the kitchen and smoke was pouring out fast, so Frank knew the search for survivors would have to be quick. Gerard raced down the hall and checked every room before the last door made him stop in his tracks. Frank nearly ran into him before he saw what was within the room.

It was a child's room, that was apparent. A small bed was tucked in the corner, lined with stuffed animals. Books were set on a small bookshelf next to a dresser. There were drawings pasted all over the walls, and toys were scattered around. A few were splattered with blood, and some books were torn from the bookshelf. In the center of it were two people, a young woman and a young man. The woman was pretty, petite and wide-eyed. Her cheeks were tear-stained and her shirt was soaked with blood. She wasn't breathing. The man was dark-haired and his chest was struggling to rise and fall steadily.

Poison immediately dropped to his knees and tried to locate the source of blood, but there was too much. His hands were quickly covered in it and he began to preform CPR. He pressed down on his chest and forced air into his mouth, but Ghoul knew it was no use. There was too much blood. The man reached up shakily and attached his fingers to the collar of Poison's shirt.

"Ch-Charlie. Pr-Protect her." He sputtered before his fingers went limp and his heart stopped under Gerard's panicked hands.

"Fuck!" He yelled, sinking back onto his haunches and knotting his bloodied fingers in his hair. "God fucking damn it!" Ghoul looked away shamefully and his eyes fell on something sticking out of the closet. It was a small sneaker and it was quivering.

"Gerard," He said softly and Poison looked up with bloodshot eyes. "Gerard, I think there's someone in the closet."

He immediately straightened and saw the sneaker retract back between the doors. Frank squatted down and leaned his elbows on his knees. "Hello? Is there anyone in there?" He said, trying to sound calm and approachable. "Are you Charlie?" He reached forward slowly and slid the door open to reveal a little girl who was shaking with fear.

She couldn't have been older than eight or nine, and she was trembling so hard Frank thought she might break. She stared at him with terror and tears were streaming from her big, brown eyes.

"Hey, sweetheart," Ghoul said in a gentle voice, pushing his gun holster so the blaster resided behind him and out of her sight. "We're not going to hurt you, okay? I'm Frankie, and this is Gerard." Gerard was staring at her with wide-eyes and she clung tight to the stuffed giraffe pressed to her chest. Frank smiled at her. "Is that a giraffe? What's his name?"

"Clarence." She said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That's a good name," Frank told her, shifting so he was between her gaze and the two dead bodies behind her. "I think that Clarence wants to come out of the closet now. Do you want to come out of there?" The fire was spreading, and smoke was starting to creep into the room. They needed to get out. 

She shook her head, brown locks of hair falling over her bloodshot eyes. "No. I don't wanna go with you. I want my mommy and daddy." 

"I know you do, but we're not going to let anything bad happen to you. We're here to help, okay?" He looked nervously towards the thickening smoke. "You can trust us." 

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." Charlie said quietly. "Mommy and daddy said." 

"Your mommy and daddy are very smart," Frank said, plastering a smile to hide the growing panic in his chest. "But you have to come with us now, okay? Come on out and we'll help you. How old are you, sweetie?"

"Nine." She said quietly, her big brown eyes filling with tears and her bottom lip wobbling. "I just turned it two days ago."

He smiled slightly at her way of speak. "You're a big girl. You want to be brave and come with us?"

She looked slightly less terrified and Frank took that as a yes. He reached into the closer and scooped her up, pressing her to his chest to hide her sight. "Poison, let's go." Ghoul commands, and Poison makes no movement.

"Gerard!" Frank's shout startled him into focus and his eyes settled on the shaking form in his friend's tattooed arms. His gaze shifted from Gerard to Party Poison and his boot was through the window in a manner of seconds. Ghoul passed Charlie down into Poison's awaiting arms and looked back at the burning room. Paper drawings were catching on fire and the books that lined the walls were smoldering.

"You wanna asphyxiate or you wanna fucking go, huh Iero?" Poison yelled over the roar of the flames. It was a little weird, seeing his red-haired friend looking downright murderous in a leather jacket holding a little girl, but Ghoul didn't have time to think about things like that. As soon as his boots hit the ground he was speeding to the Trans Am with Poison following behind. It's started to rain and by the time Frank reaches the car, he's absolutely soaked. Lightning cracks across the sky and thunder shakes the ground.

Charlie poked her head up from Poison's shoulder with tears streaming down her dusty cheeks. The stuffed giraffe was still clutched in her little fingers. Kobra and Jet look up when they arrive, Jet cleaning off his bleeding hand. His mouth drops into a little o. Mikey looks downright confused.

"You forgot Mommy and Daddy. Are they coming?" She asked in a broken voice. No response came. "I want them now!" She said forcefully, her voice cracking.

"Honey, they're not coming." Gerard said, avoiding her gaze when she turns to look at him. Her bottom lip trembles slightly and Frank knows she's going to freak out any second now.

"I want my daddy!" She started to cry in earnest and tries to struggle away from Poison. "I don't want you!"

"Sweetheart-" Gerard started but Frank can see his losing his grip on the struggling girl. "Kiddo, you need to calm down." She's screaming now, and Gerard nearly drops her. 

Hoarse cries of, "Mommy! Daddy! Don't let them take me, wake up! Daddy!" were tearing from her throat. She pushed her small hands against his shoulder, her giraffe dropping to the ground. Ghoul bent over and picked it up, his own eyes prickling. Whether it was from the remaining smoke or the tears, he didn't know.

To Frank's surprise, Mikey stepped over and took her from his brother. He cradled her to his chest and pushed her wet bangs from her forehead.

"Hey, little one." He said softly. "I'm very sorry. I know this is a lot. But if you calm down we can get you nice and warm okay?" She quieted slightly and sobbed brokenly into her hands. Frank looked at Gerard in confusion. Poison shoved a hand through his hair and got into the driver's seat. Jet wordlessly got into the passengers seat and Kobra ducked into the back seat. Ghoul exhaled slowly and slid next to Mikey. He placed the giraffe next to her and her fingers curled into it's fur tightly.

The drive was quiet except for the sniffling of the girl in Mikey's lap. Her eyes were wide and her nose was runny, and it took all of Frank not to burst out crying himself. When they arrived at the safehouse, there was a storm in full torrent. Charlie cowered against Mikey and winced every time lightning shot across the sky. Doctor D was in the doorway when the four of them slopped through the mud and raised an eyebrow when he saw Charlie.

"I don't recall planning a rescue mission today, boys." He said. Mikey moved past him and walked down the hall without looking back.

"She's staying." Frank told Doctor Death, a little more forceful than he meant to. He followed Mikey. Gerard started to talk in a quiet tone with the Doctor and Jet watched them go sadly.

"Will you get me one of your shirts?" Kobra asked Ghoul. He's sat Charlie on his bed and has wrapped her in a blanket. When Ghoul returned with a worn t-shirt, her hair looked freshly toweled and her face had been wiped clean. It was blotchy and red, a few stray tears dribbling down her cheeks.

"I'm going to give you one of Frankie's shirts to sleep in, okay? That way you're warm and clean. We can get you clothes tomorrow." Mikey said, untying her sneakers and peeling off her wet socks. Alarm bells went off in Frank's head when she stared emptily at the spot above Mikey's head and allowed him to undress her. He slid the shirt over her head and wrapped her in a new blanket.

"Do you want to sleep in the spare room or with me?" He asked her. Thunder rolled outside and she winced.

"With you." She said in a shaking voice. He picked her up and Frank marveled at how well she fit in the space between his arm and his hip. She was still holding the stuffed giraffe, which was wet and dirty.

"I'm going to give you to Frank while I change, okay?" Mikey passed her over and Frank balanced her on his hip. "I'm right here, Charlie." Her cheek was soft against Frank's shoulder, and her hair still had a faint scent of shampoo. Kobra pulled off his wet clothes and changed into something dryer. He took her back and looked at Frank with a sad expression. She clung to his shirt and turned her face away from Frank.

"I'll go talk to them," Frank murmured. "Tell me if you need something." His heart pulled a bit as he left the room, closing it quietly. He heard Mikey pacing on barefeet and murmuring incoherently.

He inhaled sharply as he slumped against the wall of his own room, covering his mouth as tears prickled in his eyes. He released an aching sob and slid to the floor, his vest sticking to his back in it's dampness. He felt claustrophobic. He heard someone walk in and saw Poison's boots.

"Frankie," Gerard sighed. "I'm-" Before he could finish, Frank had flown to his feet and had pressed his lips against his. Gerard stiffened before kissing Frank back, allowing Frank to push his jacket over his shoulders. He kicked off his boots and attached his lips to Frank's neck. Frank fell back onto the bed and they eagerly touched and sucked and kissed and felt each other until they were both naked and lying between the sheets.

Frank was pressed to Gerard's bare chest and staring blankly at the wall. Gerard's fingers were combing through his still-damp hair. Frank's throat felt swollen from refusing to cry.

"What are we doing?" He asked finally in the darkness. "We can't keep a kid alive out here." Poison didn't answer for a few moments.

"We have to try." He said finally in a quiet voice.

When Frank awoke the next morning, the bed was empty and it was 2013. The sun shined through the window and he momentarily forgot everything that had happened the night before-until the patter of small feet brought him to reality.

The new year had brought with it a little girl by the name of Charlie, and he wasn't sure if it was a curse or a blessing. He walked out to the main room after getting dressed and watched Charlie sit in Mikey's lap and take small bites of oatmeal, feeling a small smile spread across his face. He could tell by the way Kobra settled her chin atop her head, the way Jet kept stealing glances at her from his maps and the way Poison's eyes lit up when he looked at her that she was theirs. She was small and terrified but she was theirs.

He sat down at the table and took the coffee handed to him by Poison. He looked at Charlie and watched Kobra thumb away some oatmeal from her chin. Poison laughed as she wrinkled her nose at him, and Frank felt whole for the first time in what seemed like forever. There may be people dying, he thought, but we got something amazing out of it.

The first few weeks would be tough. Her nightmares awoke Charlie in screams every night and she refused to speak for weeks. Her small body cowered in fear at every noise and she could barely stand to be away from any of them for longer than ten minutes. But she would warm up quick enough, attached to Mikey almost constantly, and would choose her Killjoy name months later:

Contemplation Revolver.


	5. Death Valley

"Where do you think you're going?" 

Poison was leaning in the doorway of her room with a bemused expression as he watched her glare at herself in the mirror. 

"I'm going out." She said, sticking her tongue out as she forced her fingers through her messy hair. She had allowed Frank to try his hand at cutting it last night, and he had successfully made me her look like a punked-out drowned rat. It was shaved shorter on the right side and piled in the front, dark locks of black hair tumbling over her eyes. It all swept to her left, after many attempts at pushing it over. 

"Where is out, exactly?" He raised an eyebrow as she huffed a sigh and gave up. 

"Out as in the bar in Zone Four. Not too far," She added when she saw his eyebrow raise higher. "I'm going with friends. Cosmic Rush is taking me, remember her?" She sent her hand through her hair one more time and looked at her dusty Killjoy outfit distastefully. 

"Mm." Poison frowned slightly. "Rush is the 'Joy with the face paint, yeah?" Cosmic Rush had a habit of painting up the space around her eyes in miraculous depcitions of starry skies and space nebulas. 

Revolver nodded and holstered her gun. "I have my blaster and mask," She said, indicating to her bright purple laser gun and the domino mask hanging around her neck. "Can I go? Please? Ghoul already said I could."

He groaned. "Fine. Be home by two." 

She grinned and turned back to the mirror. Her ears and nose glittered with new metal-Kobra had taken her to a local shop after two days ago for some new jewelry. Hers were starting to rust. The Killjoy there, one that went by the single name of Klash, made his own pieces out of twisted wire and broken metal. He fashioned up two new hoops for her right ear, a spare industrial for her left and new plugs to replace her old ones. He even threw her a nose ring in exchange for the mural she painted on his shop window. 

Revolver ran a hand through her hair one more time and inspected herself carefully. Two dark eyes beneath thick lashes stared back at her, almost as dark as her hair. Ghoul swore they looked black in the right light. Paired with high cheekbones and a thin nose, her entire appearance was usually described as slender, but she described it as scrawny. Knees that turned in towards each other, knobbly elbows, sharp hipbones and a 5'9 frame put together what she was. She was wearing a purple t-shirt now-Ghoul had insisted on it, saying her regular black-midsleeve wasn't 'proper for getting bitches'-that cut lower than she liked, showing off her terrible excuse for a developed chest. Luckily for the boys, her breasts hadn't grown since she was about thirteen, so they rarely had to go find new clothes. Her once-black skinny jeans settled for a dusty grey after many years in the Zones. She had replaced her normal high-top sneakers with her combat boots for the occassion, hoping to make herself look a bit older than she was.

"Revolver, Rush is here!" Poison yelled from the front room. She sighed slightly and pulled on her black Killjoy vest, her boots clicking on the wood as she made her way to the kitchen of the Diner. She passed Doctor D's room as she left, and he held up a two-fingered salute from his microphone. 

"Home by two." Poison repeated, looking Revolver up and down. "And don't leave your drink unattended. Don't get in the car with anyone you don't know. If you take something weird, I  _will_ find out and I  _will_ kill you." 

"Get your stick out of your ass, Poison," Ghoul piped up from his comic. He was lounging on the couch, his boots propped up on the edge and one arm hooked behind his head. "She's just going to have some fun."

Poison mumbled something incoherently. "Kobra and Jet are doing runs. Call them if you wanna come home, okay?"

"Yes, yes, yes okay." Revolver saw Rush standing outside the door with her hands in her pockets, looking at the floor. "I'm leaving now." She slipped behind him and Rush looked up. 

"Heya, 'Volver." She smiled and waved. Her facepaint was a beautiful depiction of a starry sky, swirling whites and silvers over a dark blue background. "Glad your wardens let you out."

Revolver scowled. "It took begging and about three hours worth of lectures. Where are we going again? Like, what's it called?" 

Rush started to walk and motioned for Revolver to follow. "Just a lil' place in Zone Four. I think it's called  _Velocity_ or something. A couple of my other friends are gonna be there. You know Toxic Flare, right?" Revolver mind drifted to the energetic Killjoy with a taste for motorbikes and nodded. "Yeah, her gang is coming." 

"Cool." Revolver slid her hand into her pockets and chewed on her bottom lip nervously. "I look okay, right?" 

"Yeah, you look fine." Rush grinned at her through the darkness. "Just be normal. Most people will probably know who you are anyways." 

Revolver frowned. "How?"

"You're the fifth Fabulous Killjoy, man." Rush spread her arms wide. "Contemplation Revolver, miracle from Zone Five!"

"I am  _not_ the fifth Fabulous Killjoy." Revolver protested, scowling slightly. "I'm not a whole lot of special." 

"I dunno about that," Rush continued. Her dark brown hair was put up in a loose bun, held with what looked like a painbrush. "You're, like, an original. You were a Killjoy before I was. Hell, you were a Killjoy before I even knew there was something going on." She laughed slightly. Rush had come from Canada when BL/i spread itself worldwide, barely escaping with her life. She wandered into the Zones weeks later. 

Rush and Revolver had met when Revolver was about fifteen, as a result of an acid rain storm. Rush had just turned eighteen at the time, and was stocking up paints when Revolver literally tumbled through the doorway of her safehouse, spluttering and coughing. Rush had given her some help, treated the small burns on her bare skin and waited with her until the rain stopped. 

"Doesn't really count," Revolver stuck close to Rush as they walked, a habit she had gotten into after years of following the Four around. "I was nine. The Four were barely even a thing yet." 

"You're a survival story, 'Volver," Rush laughed. "Deal with it." 

They arrived at the bar, a dingy building with boarded over windows and a fading neon sign advertising it's name. Music was playing from inside, and Revolver twisted the hem of her shirt between her fingers. 

"Okay," Rush turned to her suddenly. "Don't drink anything you've never tried before. These places are not the kind of places to try new things, okay? Stick with beer if you want anything. You got any carbons?" Revolver nodded. "Good. Keep them in a safe place. If anyone gets too aggresive with you-particularly the Z.P.'s-just tell 'em to back off and find me, okay?" Revolver nodded once more and Rush clapped her on the shoulder. "This is gonna be fun, trust me." She smiled and led her inside. 

The air inside was warm and thick with smoke, filled with music and the chatter of surronding Killjoys. Revolver spotted the Z.P's right away; Z.P. stood for Zone Player, a prositute that made his or her wages by preying on any Killjoy with a carbon to spare. They were men and women alike, dressed in showy clothes, even by Killjoy standards. Leaning on the bar and smoking cigarettes, they smiled and flirted with anyone they could. 

Rush steered her through the crowd, and Revolver tried to ignore the pricking at the back of her neck as she felt some of the Killjoys turn and stare at her. She kept her gaze down and let Rush lead her through. She hated that everyone seemed to know who she was-being the zone kid of the Fabulous Four did that to your reputation, she supposed. It was a little unnerving. 

"Rush!" A voice called as they drew near the second counter. "Over here!" 

Revolver looked up to see a lively-looking Toxic Flare waving at them. She prayed her smile wasn't too nervous as she followed Rush. 

"Hey, you brought her!" Toxic hugged Rush then turned to Revolver. "Damn, you're getting old." 

Revolver grinned slightly, still twisting her shirt hem around her fingers. "That tends to happen." 

"Hey, you met the rest of the gang?" Rush motioned she was going to get drinks and headed into the crowd. "This is Toxic Adrenaline-everyone calls her Jess, or Ssej, no one knows why-, Venom Bomb, Ghost Venom-" She pointed to each respectively, and Revolver waved. "-and...wait, where's Broken?" 

"Right here," A voice chimed from behind Revolver, startling her slightly. "Just because I'm short doesn't mean I'm invisible, Toxic." 

Revolver turned around and saw a girl with bright blue hair grinning at her. She held a bottle in one hand, and the other in the back pocket of her shorts. She cocked her head slightly, the adjustment showing off her glittering septum piercing in her nose. She blinked at Revolver like she was drinking in every inch of her. 

"So this is her, huh?" She asked, looking around Revolver at Toxic. "She looks like Kobra." 

"That's what I said." Ghost spoke for the first time. She adjusted one of her gloves and was talking around a lit cigarette. "She's got the knees and everything." 

"Erm...bad habit?" Revolver said nervously. Rush reappeared, passing Revolver a bottle of beer before leaning against the counter besides the red-haired Killjoy Venom. Revolver took it greatfully, hoping some booze would take the edge off. Right as she was raising it to her lips, Adrenaline stopped her. 

"Gotta take one of these first." She held out a small shot glass filled with redish liquid. "It's like, an initation. Called a Vel-Drop or something like that." 

Revolver took it from her and eyed it skeptically. "Is it safe?" Her comment sent the group into laughter. 

"You're  _so_ Poison's kid," Toxic snickered. "Yeah, it's safe. We have no reason to kill you." She grinned. 

"Just knock it back so it hits your throat, not your tongue, and swallow." Broken said, still keeping her dark eyes on Revolver. "Then drink some beer. It'll take the edge off. You seem as jumpy as me." 

"I don't get out a lot." Revolver mumbled, mostly to herself, before tipping her head back and swallowing quickly. It burned her throat and made her eyes water, and she swallowed some mouthfuls from her bottle to keep her from coughing. She blinked a few times and exhaled slowly. "Not too bad." 

"Awesome. Take another." Toxic passed one over and Revolver knocked it back, quicker this time, and without a swig of beer. She coughed slightly and squeezed one eye shut. 

"Whoa." She said simply, and the group laughed again. 

"Toxic, you're not gettin' that girl drunk, are you?" The bartender turned around and nudged Toxic's shoulder. He was an older Killjoy, his black hair fading into a darkish grey. His eyes were a brilliant green though, and rimmed in a small bit of eyeliner. "She's sixteen." 

"Whoa, shit, really?" Toxic turned back to Revolver, eyes wide. "Oops. Thought you were older." 

Revolver waved her hand. "Eh, I'm fine." She did feel considerably looser now, and Broken's eyes didn't seem as analytical as before. The bartender looked unconvinced. 

"There may not be any laws anymore, but I'm not exactly a huge fan of minors drinking." He glared at Adrenaline and Toxic. 

"It was two shots, Billie." Ghost piped up. "She'll be fine." 

"Wait, am I the youngest one here?" Revolver asked, looking around confusedly.

"Yup." Broken said, walking over to the counter and leaning her back against it. She popped the p on her diction. "That you are. I'm eighteen along with Venom, Toxic and Rush are nineteen, Adrenaline's about twenty-three, and Ghost is bordering on twenty-nine."

Rush must have noticed how Revolver looked at Broken when her back was turned, for she grinned slightly and jerked her head, indicating Revolver should stand next to her. Revolver took another drink and followed. She tried to lean as casually as possible next to Broken without seeming weird. 

"So I'm Broken Syndrome," She said, turning to look up at Revolver. She must've been about 5'1, because Revolver towered over her. "And you must be Contemplation Revolver."

Revolver nodded. Now that she was closer, she was able to appreciate her in better light. Her almond-shaped eyes were rimmed in thick eyeliner, and her full lips were the same shade as her eyes. Her bangs were pushed back by the vibrant Killjoy mask atop her head and her hair fell in blue strands along her shirt collar. Revolver had often been told she had a way of seeing people in a way not many others could-as if every individual was an art piece in their own. It became apparent now, as she watched Broken tilt her head back to take a drink from the bottle clasped in her hands. 

The way her body was small, but proportioned. The easy slope of her legs and hips, the knives strapped to her left thigh, her combat boots that were worn from use. Her pale skin and how it looked under the dim lights, like the pages of Revolver's notebook under the light of her dying flashlight. The way her collarbones peeked out from under her t-shirt, and the way her black vest was dotted with paint. 

"You don't talk much." Broken raised an eyebrow. 

"Sorry," Revolver offered apologetically. "I don't get out a lot. Among other Killjoys, I mean. I fight and stuff. Er, but not that much. I'm not very good. Well, I'm okay but I don't want to sound immodest." She babbled, mentally wincing. This was why she didn't talk to Killjoys around her age very much. 

Broken laughed. "I know all about you. You don't have to explain anything to me." 

Revolver nodded and felt her ears flare red. She took another drink to prevent herself from embarrassing herself even further. 

"How much did you have to beg those four to let you out here, hm?" Broken asked casually, propping one elbow up on the counter and setting her chin in it. "I heard they're a little protective." 

Revolver snorted. "More like a lot. I had to practically beg them." She took another swig from the bottle and felt the warmth of alcohol spread through her body. 

"Mm." Broken took a drink from her own bottle. "You're sixteen, yeah? That's young."

"Not that young." Revolver mumbled. 

"Oh, I don't doubt you're miles ahead of your chronological age mentally, my friend." Broken laughed again, a clear sound among the clatter. "Especially the way you seem a little drunk off two shots and half a bottle of very, very weak beer." 

Revolver hiccuped. "I'm trying to ease myself into a potentially terrifying social situation. Sorry."

Broken laughed even harder and grinned up at her. "You don't talk like a Killjoy. You talk all smart and shit." 

"Like you don't." Revolver fired back. "Chronological age? Really?" 

"Point taken. So, you got a girlfriend or a boyfriend, Miss Revolver?" 

Revolver choked on a swallow of beer. She sputtered slightly and wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. "That was...sudden." 

"I'm not a huge fan of small talk." Broken shrugged. "Answer the question." 

"No, I don't." Revolver winced internally. "Never found the right person." 

"You still a virgin?" It was uncommon for Killjoys to keep their virginities past the age of fifteen-the lifestyle most of them lead didn't allow for that sort of things. Kids grew up fast. It was just the way things were. But Revolver was different. even by Killjoy standards. She wasn't a partier, she didn't sneak out and she didn't fight other Killjoys. She thought the whole concept of a virginity was pretty dumb, but she had never even kissed someone.

"Yeah," Revolver blurted out. "Er, I mean no."

Broken grinned. "You totally are." When Revolver shook her head, she grinned even wider. "I can tell by the way you're not looking at me and the redness of your face that you're lying to me."

"It's none of your business." Revolver scowled at the bottle in her hand.

"You're very correct. You're a hell of a lot better than I was at your age." Broken wiggled her fingers at Revolver in a wave and flounced away. "See you around, Revolver."

Revolver stared after her, dumbfounded, before a clap on the back startled her.

"You're lovestruck." It was Adrenaline. "That's so cute." 

"I am not." Revolver muttered, ducking out from under her hand. "She's just nice, that's all." She finished off the bottle of beer she was holding and sighed. "I need another beer." 

\---

Revolver woke up the next morning in a tangle of sheets and with a slight pain in her head. She was clammy with sweat and her heart was pounding. Another series of nightmares had plauged her all night. She used to wake up screaming, but now she just jolted into conciousness choking on one. 

Ghoul was still asleep in the bed opposite her, his mouth hanging open slightly as a trail of drool dribbled down his chin. When Revolver was younger, she used to wait for him to fall asleep then sneak across the hall to sleep in Mikey's room. There were sometimes when she wished she still could, when she felt alone and very small in a huge expanse of desert where just about everything wanted to kill her, but she wasn't nine anymore. 

Figuring sleep was out of the question, she untangled herself from her blankets and got dressed quietly. She looked out the window and judged that it was about five in the morning, based on the pinkening horizon. She had wandered in at two, like she promised, after Rush dropped her off. Poison was the only one left awake, his boots propped up on the edge of the sofa and his gaze on the door. 

When she had walked in, he immediately made her walk in a straight line to check her sobriety. She had only drank two beers and two shots of whatever the hell that other thing had been, so she passed relatively quickly. 

He was asleep now, curled up on his bed in his room. His sketchbook was open, and it looked like he had fallen asleep mid-drawing. Revolver made her way down the hall and pulled a can of Power Pup off the shelf, breaking it open as she continued outside. She often forgot that Poison was the leader of the Killjoys, and most of them only saw him as the swaggering leader with his rapid firing guns and fighting streak. None of them got to see him asleep in his bed, in an old t-shirt and boxers, looking more like a tired teenager than the leader of a rebellion.

Revolver pulled down the fire escape ladder and climbed the rungs to the rooftop. She made her way over to the edge and sat down, her legs dangling. With one spoonful of the horrendous dog food in her mouth, she let her mind wander. The horizon was flowing with orange light now, and she thought of a vague memory from seven years ago. 

About a week after she had been carried through the safehouse doors and into the Four's lives, she developed a fever. Doctor D diagnosed it as a stress-related flu, and she spent her days in Mikey's bed very, very sick. She couldn't eat without throwing it back up, and she was plagued with fever-related hallucinations. One night, the moon was full and Mikey carried her sweaty and shaking form up the stairs and onto the roof. He had sat down and cradled her in his lap, pushing sweaty locks of hair from her forehead and talking aimlessly in the cool air for hours. 

Revolver took another scoop of Power Pup and smiled at the memory. She remembered his face, looking out at the horizon and illumimnated by the moon, and all of the stars twinkling behind him. It was always interesting for her to compare what little memories she had from before the fires to the ones she held now, of learning to shoot a gun and fistfight. 

Not that she had forgotten her parents. She held memories of her mother's soothing embrace and her father's laugh close to her heart. She had one picture of them left, which resided in the locket hidden under her floorboards. She was terrified she would forget their faces, and only remember their screams and the gunshots that took them away from her.

The sun rose completely and Revolver squinted against the brightness. She heard a yawn downstairs and the click of a door, and Doctor D started his morning broadcast. 

" _Look alive, sunshine..._ " 

She could feel the Zones awaken. There was always a certain intensity in the air, a static that never quite went away. Killjoys woke up to find themselves alive another day. 

Her reflection was short-lived, because the sound of a revving car startled her. Her stomach dropped as a white car became visible on the highway. 

"Aw, fuck." She muttered, finishing the last of her Power Pup and swinging her legs back onto the roof. 

Nothing like a firefight to wake someone up in the morning, right?

 


	6. S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W

"Shit. Shit, god damn it all, motherfucking  _shit._ "

Revolver watches the pristine white car, a blotch of clean on a dirty landscape, and stands up. Impending firefights always make her a little jumpy, so she wasn't surprised when the hand that gripped the door handle to return inside shook a bit. She darts down the stairs, tripping a bit at the bottom and crashing into a sleepy Kobra on his way to the kitchen.

"Whoa, kiddo, slow the fuck down." He grabs her shoulders to steady her. "Where's the fire?"

"Dracs." She blurts out the one word and his whole demeanor changes. Gone was the sleepy-eyed Mikey on his way to get coffee, replaced with the straight-backed Kobra on his way to grab his gun and raise hell. 

"Wake up the others." He orders, turning around and ducking into his room. Revolver does as she was told, pounding on Poison's door until he startles awake. She tells him about the car and he throws himself out of bed. 

"Jet! Doctor D!" She yells, running down the hall. "Car on the horizon! Looks like we got some static coming in!" She darts into her room and kicks the base of Ghoul's bed, making him groan and bat at her with his arm. 

"Ghoul, get up." She says, peeling off her sweats and replacing them with dirty jeans. "Unless you wanna be drac meat." At the mention of draculoids, his eyes fly open and he's out of bed in seconds. 

They dress in silence, Revolver ignoring the bubbling nervousness in her stomach. She had been in more fights than she could count, especially recently with the BL/i crackdown, but every fight made her nervous. She was never quite sure what the result of one would be, and she had more close calls than she cared to admit. As she loads her gun with new battery cartridges, she gulps down fear and pushes her mind into fighting-mode, a mode of focus that only knew three things: how to pull a trigger, how to stay alive and how to take a life. 

Revolver wasn't a huge fan of her fighting self. 

She settles her gun in it's holster, letting herself adjust to the weight of it against her hip, and turns to Ghoul. He's stone-faced and silent, rolling his shoulder and fitting a bandana around his neck. The collar of his vest is popped up, cupping his tattooed neck, making him look military and uniformed. It was immensly different from the laughing Frank with his crooked grin. 

Killjoys often had two sides: the side that survived and the side that lived. At least, that's how Revolver liked to put it. How she saw it, surviving was different than living. Surviving was fighting, bloodshed, pain, and a gun that never left your side. Living was taking time to breathe, laughter, silence and having a place to call home. Too often did the two sides mix. 

She races down the hall with Ghoul on her heels, pushing her purple domino mask down over her eyes. Poison is already ready, his dirty blue Dead Peagasus jacket contrasting heavily against his bright red hair. It needs redying, his hair, but hair dye is a rarity. The roots are coming in brown and strands of dark strands intermix with the red. His mask sits over his face and he has a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he glares down the approaching car. 

"Shit, there's more of 'em." Jet warns from his post at the window. He already has his gun drawn. "D, call for backup." The Doctor rolls away into the back with his radio pressed to his ear. 

"Revolver, stick close." Poison says. 

"Why?" Revolver turns to look at him. "It's just some dracs. I can handle myself." 

"I got a bad feeling." When she opens her mouth to protest, he leveles a glare at her. "That's an order." 

She falls silent and scowls at her boots but nodded. If there was one thing Revolver hated more than Better Living, it was following directions. The Four knew it too, judging by the stern look she recieved from everyone around the room. "What, I nodded didn't I?" She protests. 

"Seriously, Revolver." Kobra was cracking his knuckles. "You almost got shot last time. We don't know how many their are." Ghoul nods his assent. 

"As much as the reitteration of rules is oh-so-important," Jet cuts in from the window. "We have company." 

Sure enough, the cars had slammed to a stop at the sight of the Trans Am in the driveway. Draculoids pile out, and Revolver glances at them wearily. They counted up to about fifteen. 

"Fifteen to five," She mutters. "Because fuck the rules." She follows the Four out into the glaring Zone sun. Ghoul pulls his monster mask over his face and Kobra covers his nose and mouth with his bandana. Jet pulls on his helmet and assumes a wide-legged stance. 

"Killjoys!" A garbling voice sounds through an unknown speaker. "Give yourself up to Better Living Industries and we will not hurt you!" Revolver has to choke back a laugh. It was the same thing every single time. A command to surrender, some threats, and the shooting would begin. 

"That has never,  _ever_ worked, you insubordinant assholes!" Poison yells back, drawing his gun. "Those pills kill your creativity, hence why you idiots can't come up with a better way to persuade us!" He jumps back as two lasers fired by his feet. He looks up with a grin. 

"Little fast to fire today." He aims and Jet starts to protest. 

"No, Poison, wait-" He was cut off when Poison fires his gun. The fight launched into affect. 

Draculoids fire from every direction and Revolver did her best to return the gunfire. She dodges and rolls, taking out dracs in a mass of laserbeams. Blood begins to run red through the sand and it stains her knees as she hits the ground to escape a laser aiming for her head. It slides past her ear, burning the tip of it, and she curses as warm blood trickled down her ear. 

Her curse was cut off when a hand roughly hooked herself in her collar and yanked her to her feet. She felt herself begin to choke when she was hoisted higher than she liked, her toes dragging on the dirt floor. She wrenches around to fight her attacker, and her stomach went cold. 

A sickly grin met her frozen face, belonging to a man she had only met one other time in her life. Korse, the head Exterminator of Better Living Industries, had her collar balled in his fist and a gun pressed under her chin in no time flat. He clicks his tongue and tilts his head as she struggled. 

"Hello, Charlie." He purrs quietly. She stops her thrasing and stares at him in disbelief. There were barely anyone who knew her real name. Her hands find her collar and she despreately tries to breathe. "I haven't seen you in so long. Look at you, so grown up!" His grin makes Revolver want to vomit. She swings her leg at him blindly, feeling a satisfactory collision of her foot to his knee. He curses and drops her, letting her suck in a few breaths before viciously kicking her in the stomach. 

She let out a strangled, "Fuck!" before he applies his boot to her ribs and she flies onto her back. A searing burn tore through her shoulder and she screams in pain. Korse was so much stronger than her, talling and faster and built for murder. Her fighting had momentary affect, then he was rearing to fight again. Poison, the strongest fighter she knew, had fought him twice and barely escaped with his life. 

She could feel blood soaking through her shirt, spilling down her shoulder and her arm. It was warm and sticky. Her vision blurs as the hazy form of Korse lurks above her. 

"Get up," He spits, yanking her by her collar again. She's forced to her feet and his gun presses against her temple painfully. "Get up and fight me, you pathetic rat." Her vision is swimming, but she lands her fist to his jaw painfully. The blow sends her tripping sideways and she clutches her shoulder in agony. Blood is soaking through her glove. Korse's kick to the back of her knees sends her sprawling with a yell. 

"Revolver!" Kobra yells. She staggers and braces one elbow against the ground, still holding her shoulder as she struggles to her feet. The pain is intense, blurring her vision with black spots. She hears the roar of a car approaching and the sound of gunfire heightens as more Killjoys join the fight. The backup must have arrived. 

Korse manages to land a punch across her face, knicking her eye and the side of her nose. She's on her knees again, struggling for breath and strength. Her shoulder feels like it's on fire. Korse has a gun leveled on her forehead, his grin strikingly apparent among the blurring quality of her vision. 

"They shot her!" Ghoul's angry yell cuts above the din. "That motherfucker shot her!" 

The heat of the sun is making her head swim. It's with great effort she stays on her knees. 

"I have a question for you, Charlie." Korse reloads his gun and aims once again. "Which would you prefer? A quick shot to the dead, or do you want to die last?" 

She glares up at him and spits at him. His face drops into a scowl and his fingers curl around the trigger on his gleaming white blaster. 

 _Bam!_ The sound of clear gunshot meets Revolver's ears and she steels herself for the end. When nothing happens, she cracks one eye open. Korse is standing in disbelief, his hand empty. The white blaster lies smoking a few feet away. 

"Stand down, assfuck." There's a girl standing to his left, her bright gun extended. "I'll do it again, and this time I'll take your hand with me." She's got a black mask covering her eyes, small cat ears atop it. Her eyes are solid with determination. 

Revolver's wavering on her knees. Korse is distracted now, his glare leveled at the shorter girl. She returns it bravely, her stance unyielding. Korse seems to be weighing his options, and he glances around. Dracs are dropping one-by-one, and soon there will be nothing left. He takes two steps back and returns his glare to the girl. 

"This is not over." He spits out through gritted teeth.

"I count on it." Her mouth turns up into a grin, and he disappears into his car without a word. 

Poison rushes over and looks like he's about to take off after him, but Jet stops him with a glare. The girl catches Revolver when she starts to fall forward. "Whoa, whoa, take it easy." She says, rolling Revolver onto her back and pushing her mask up into her hair. "It's just your shoulder. We're going to get you help, okay?" Revolver recognizes her from the night before, Broken. The girl with the blue hair and the almond eyes. 

"Ow." Revolver says simply. "Don't feel good. Gonna pass out. Maybe puke? I dunno." Her ribs are aching. Broken presses her small hands over Revolver's bleeding shoulder. 

"It's gonna be fine," She reassures her. "Although you took a bit of a beating. That's gonna bruise." Her eyes waver over Revolver's swelling eye. 

"Ow, god fucking damn it." Revolver groans, her vision blurring again. "This fucking hurts. Ow, shit!" She curses when she tries to sit up. 

"Well don't sit up, dumbass." Broken rolls her eyes and gently pushes her back down. "That's not going to help anyone. See, here comes Kobra. He'll get you inside real quick." 

Kobra appears in Revolver's line of sight, his face lined with worry. His own face is scratched, an oozing cut dripping from above his eyebrow. "Jesus Christ, kid." He says softly, bending down and pushing bangs from her forehead. "Why'd you got to pick a fight with the devil?"

"Didn't pick a fight with him," Revolver gasps out when he props her up against his chest. "He picked a fight with me. Oh, asshole, that hurts!" He ignores her and hooks one of her arms around his shoulder. 

"She's going to be okay, right?" Broken looks a little worried at the pallor of Revolver's face when Kobra stands up. Kobra looks over at her in confusion but nods. 

"Yeah, she's fine." He adjusts her slightly and keeps her steady. "Thanks for the help." Broken nods and walks back over to where Rev and Suicide are cleaning guns. They're not the only people who came out to help; Revolver sees Splatter's crew in the back and a group of Zone Runners. Jet's helping the other injured Killjoys, as is Ghoul. 

Poison's standing in the doorway waiting for them, and as soon as Kobra helps her in, his attention is on Revolver. "Let me see your shoulder." She sits down, hissing when it irritates her ribs, and is aided in peeling off her vest. The shoulder of her shirt is soaked with blood, and Poison tears it open to get a better look. "God damn it," He mutters as he gingerly touches around the seeping wound. "I told you to stay close." 

"It's not that bad," She says, wincing and clasping her hand to it. "Although some gauze would be awesome." 

"You're gonna need more'n gauze, lil' lady." Doctor D calls from his medical room. "Get'er in here, Poison, and lemme fix her up." 

\---

One hour and a fuckton of curses from Revolver later, her shoulder is bandaged and her minor cuts taped. Her ribs are already bruising, and her eye is going to be a nice shade of purple when she wakes up. Overall, she kind of feels like she's been run over with a truck but it's not like she's going to tell anyone else that. 

"Seriously, Revolver. Stay there." Poison's glaring at her as he cleans his gun at the table. "Moving is going to make it hurt more." 

"I don't want to just sit here!" She protests, staring at the ceiling. "It's boring." 

"Yeah, well, life's tough." He slides a cloth over the barrel of his gun. "Suck it up." 

She scowls and looks over at him. "You suck." 

"I never said I didn't." He stands up and walks into the kitchen, still talking at her while he goes. "Besides, I have some questions for you." She groans. 

He returns with a can of something and as he fixes a knife under the lid, he pulls a chair over with his ankle. She's sprawled on the couch in the main room, and he sits down beside her. He looks tired and worn. His normally bright eyes are dull underneath his lashes and the bruises around his lids are unmistakeable. 

"You want to tell me how in the name of  _hell_ you got into a fight with Korse, of all people?" He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "And how you got out of it." 

"I didn't pick a fight with him." She tells him firmly. "I was fighting some other drac and he just grabbed me. I don't know why, and I don't know how I got out." 

"You shouldn't have survived that." He mumbles, popping the lid off his can and letting it fall to the ground. "It doesn't make any sense. If he wanted to, he would've taken you out with a single shot. Makes no fucking sense." 

"This isn't the first time he's left me alive." She says quietly, and he sends her a pained expression. "Listen, I'm as confused as you are, but I'd kind of like to focus on the fact that I'm not dead, thanks to some girl I've only met once." 

"Broken Syndrome, right?" He spoons some peaches into his mouth, talking around them. "Pete'n Patrick's girl." 

"Oh. I didn't know that. I met her at the bar last night." She shrugs, and winces when pain shoots through her shoulder. "She shot the gun from his hand. Some crazy, 007 shit." Poison grunts and takes another bite. 

"Last I checked, she wasn't a huge fan of guns." He pushes his hair from his face with the back of his hand. "Weird that she has such good aim." He sounds suspicious and Revolver rolls her eyes. 

"Seriously, Poison, I think we should be thanking her not analyzing her. She saved my ass." He still looks unconvinced. "Dude, do you know something I don't?" 

"I've known her for longer," He starts. "And she's a bit of a troublemaker. She's a partier. She drinks and sleeps with anyone she can get her hands on."

Revolver raises an eyebrow at him. "And that has to do with me, how? Last I checked, I never mentioned anything about seeing her again." Not that the thought hadn't crossed her mind, but whatever. 

"I'm just sayin'." He looks down at his can and hands the rest to Revolver. "Be careful." 

"Yeah, yeah," She spoons some of the sweet fruit into her mouth, mumbling under her breath. "Whatever." 

\---

Revolver spends about a week milling around the Diner, learning to shoot with a barely moveable shoulder and almost dying of boredom. After two hours of aiming at cans and often missing, she tosses her gun in anger, sending it scattering away in the dirt. She drops down and runs her fingers through her hair, exhaling in frustration. She's alone at the Diner, with Poison and Ghoul checking out a distress call two Zones away, and Kobra picking up a fight with Jet in Zone One. Doctor D is holed up in his room, speaking in hushed tones with someone on the radio, so she decided to try her hand at shooting for the fifth time that week. 

With her shooting hand out of effect, her gunfire was scattered and random, rarely hitting her target. She was pissed off and just about to kick the cans as hard as she could when Doctor Death rolled out of the house. 

"Feel like goin' someplace special, missy?" He calls, raising an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. "Unless you wanna keep beating the shit out of those cans, be my guest." 

She turns to him and slides her hands into her pockets. "Special like where?" 

"Well, I got a meeting a'sorts to go to. I normally take one of the Four with me, but they're all out. Wanna tag along?"

"What kind of meeting?" She gets her gun and holsters it, running over to walk next to him as he starts down Route Guano. 

"A Zone Leaders meetin', Miss Interrogation. Hey, push me a 'lil, won't ya? My arms ain't what they used to be." She grabs the handles to his wheelchair and pushes him along. "Anyways, as I was sayin', it's a meeting where the leaders've all the Zones get together and discuss important shit."

"Sounds exciting." She scratches behind her ear with her good arm. "Hey, Doctor D? Can I ask you something?" 

"Like you haven't already? Go for it, kid." He taps his fingers on his armrest.

"Why do we use different names? I mean, most of us don't have anyone left except for each other. Isn't the whole Killjoy name kind of...pointless?" 

"Ah, you see 'Volver, most of us use those names to keep ourselves seperate from who we were before. Holdin' on to old memories'll drive a 'Joy crazier than the Ritalin rats in Bat City." That seems like an acceptable answer, but Revolver still feels a little weird about it. 

"But isn't denouncing the time before the Fires kind of, I dunno, disrespectful to everyone who died?" She bites her lip and shrugs. "I kinda feel like it is."

"I suppose if you look at it like that, you could say that. Most of us out here're just tryin' to survive. Better to leave well enough alone. That'd be the place up there, kid." He points ahead to a crappy-looking shack in the distance. They make their way over and Doctor D pounds on the door. 

"You got a passcode for me, D?" A voice says from behind the door. 

"Ham'n eggs." Doctor D says simply, and the door clicks open to reveal a tall male Killjoy with peroxide-dyed blonde hair and a grinning face. 

"Nice to see ya, Doctor. Oh, and is that Miss Contemplation Revolver I see?" He grins at her. 

"Lay off, Mad Gear." The Doctor rolls past him and down the hall. "She's too young for you." 

"Doesn't mean I can't have a little fun." He turns back to her with a smirk. "Just kidding. I like to rile him up. I'm Mad Gear." He extends his hand and Revolver takes it. "You can call me Gabe, though. Everyone does." He kisses the top of her hand, grins and releases it, waving at her to follow him. She stares after him for a few moments before following him down the hall. 

They enter a room that's thick with smoke and the dingy smell of dirt. A table sits in the center of it, and around it six Killjoys are seated. Revolver recognizes about three of them. She sits down next to Doctor D and fidgits nervously. She feels annoyingly young, but Mad Gear's grinning at her like she's his best friend, so she's slightly comforted by that. 

"Revolver, these are the Zone leaders of the desert." Doctor Death announces, pointing around the table. "That's Mad Gear, you already met him, there's X-Kid-" A black-haired Killjoy looks up from the end of the table, and Revolver remembers him from the bar. He flashes her a smile and looks back down. "-that one there is Vagrant Velocity-" A bright-haired female Killjoy waves at her. "-the tall one is Monster-" A lanky Killjoy covered in tattoos salutes her with two fingers. "-and those two are Carbon and Splatter." Both wave respectively. "Mad Gear handles One, VV's got Two, Monster's Three, X is Four, Carbon and Splatter handle Six, and we got Zone Five, obviously. Gang, this is Revolver." 

"We know." Velocity grins at her. "Nice to meet you, 'Volver." 

Revolver swallows and smiles at them all. "Thanks for letting me come." 

"She's so polite. What'd you let those Four do to her, D?" Gabe snorts and props his boots up on the table. 

"Just 'cause you have the manners of an asshole doesn't mean we all have to, Saporta." Monster fires back and Mad Gear flips him off. 

"Boys, I do believe we have a meeting to conduct." Carbon rolls his eyes at them all. His dark hair is sticking up in every direction, and Revolver marvels how it stays like that. 

"How's the static been lookin' out there?" Doctor D asks the group. They all release a series of responses: Heavy in One, moderate in Two, empty in Three, normal in Four, heavy in Six. Doctor D looks troubled and chews on his lower lip. 

"We had a major flush-out a week ago," He says, glancing at Revolver. "As some of you've probably heard. Korse showed p'n everything."

"I did hear about that," Monster's eyes widen. "How many ghosted?" 

"None, actually." Revolver speaks up. "Only a few minor injuries."

Doctor D snorts. "Wouldn't call a fight with the head Exterminator minor, 'Volver." Mad Gear turns to gawk at her. 

" _You_ fought him?" She starts to shake her head but Doctor D's already motioning for her to show them the healing wound. She sighs and shifts her shirt collar aside and the surronding Killjoys gaze at it, some nodding respectively. X-Kid whistles. 

"Very nice. Scarred up already, and you're what, twelve?" Gabe grins at her.

"Sixteen." She corrects with a scowl. 

"I've never even seen that asshole." Splatter says, frowning. "In fact, he rarely gets his hands dirty unless they're the Four. Let alone leave anyone alive."

"Maybe he's slowing down?" Monster offers hopefully. "That's always a possibility."

"Slowing down?" Carbon snorts. "C'mon, Austin, you know the chances of that. He doesn't do anything randomly. Everything is planned out. The motherfucker knows these Zones better than some of us do. There's a reason why Revolver isn't burned to ashes right now." 

She shifts slightly and bites her lip. "No one has any idea why, though. I'm not important." 

"Reason or not, something's coming." Velocity says gravely. "And I'm not sure we're prepared for it."

 


	7. She's My Winona

**Broken Point of View: //** _Written by the mun of Broken Syndrome herself omg lucky u//_

The day started at 7:45 at night.

Broken was a night owl to say the very least. She never slept before 5 in the morning unless there was something important happening during the day, and that was okay because the rest of the gang were hardly up at four in the afternoon anyway.. (“Birds of a feather flock together!” Vicky had joked once. Broken shot two warning shots at the floor in front of her and Vicky never made another bad joke again- at least in front of her.)

Toxic’s gang didn’t sleep in the same house like most gangs. Instead, they lived in separate houses close to Toxic’s so they would always be nearby but with a sense of privacy.

She awoke in Toxic’s bed instead of her own, hips covered in bruises shaped like fingerprints.

Broken was tired like usual but she shook her head to clear the sleep from her head and gently pried herself away from Toxic who muttered something about sheep and rolled over. They didn’t exactly have a ‘thing’, but Broken always found herself near or with Toxic Flare. (“It’s ‘cause she’s… Good in bed.” Broken Syndrome has tried to explain to Suicide when he asked if they were dating. He shook his head, murmured something about her finding someone who she actually liked, and hugged her.)

They were going out to a bar that night instead of patrolling the Zones in the dark like usual.

Broken waited for Toxic to get up, sketching reflections of water on bare skin on a stray piece of paper on the table by the bed. Both were artists, Toxic specializing in paint. Broken preferred ink.

The older girl finally woke up at 8:30 PM, hungover and still tired. Toxic pulled on clothes silently and sighed.

“Let’s go. The others are probably awake and waiting outside.” Broken tilts her head and gestures to the door, walking out without an answer.

Toxic follows her without a question, getting into Venom’s car. Everyone else is inside but no one bats an eye when they get in together.

The talk is normal, teasing, light hearted. None of them raise eyebrows when Broken winces when Venom brushes her hand over her hip.

When they get to Velocity, Venom’s favorite place, they all pile out.  Toxic makes her way straight to the bar and gets something. Broken can’t see it, but it’s probably something strong. (“You can’t just drink away your hangovers!” Broken had screamed at Toxic one night. The older had slapped Broken and stormed out of the safe house. The rest of the gang found Toxic passed out in the middle of the road the next morning.)

Broken’s holding her beer and talking- okay, whatever, flirting- with one of the Z.P.’s when she spots a tall girl enter the room accompanied by another girl with stars on her face She quickly leaves the prostitute to flit to Ghost’s side to murmur something but the taller girl is making her way towards Toxic, who looks slightly drunk and much better than she was before. They’re exchanging hugs when Broken makes her way over and Toxic’s introducing Charlie to everyone and she’s close enough to hear Toxic say “-Wait, where’s Broken?”

"Right here. Just because I'm short doesn't mean I'm invisible, Toxic." Broken smiles at Revolver, giving her a Manhattan once-over when she turns around. She tilts her head to stare at Revolver more thoroughly, nodding in approval. The face jolts Broken’s memory and she places it immediately with Mikey, putting two and two together. The Four’s kid.

“So this is her, huh? She looks like Kobra.”

\---

34.8 minutes later, she left Revolver to go home to her own safehouse, not Toxic’s or another killjoy to. It was a first for her, leaving a place before 12 to go to sleep in her own bed, to think. She didn’t care.

Broken was in love.


	8. The Church of Hot Addiction

"Revolver, what in the  _hell_ are you doing?" 

Poison's yell from the doorway startled her, and she nearly knocked over the bowl in front of her. He had his hands on his hips, and one eyebrow raised. 

"Er...I'm doing a thing. That will be explained. Eventually?" She tries out, but Poison's glare is burning holes in her resolve. "Bleaching my hair. Like, the front bit."

Ghoul had cut it again, promising to "fix" it. It hadn't worked. He gave up and shaved up each side of her head, giving her a slight fauxhawk. It still tumbled in her eyes and was generally unkempt, but hey, "Being a Killjoy ain't about fashion sense," Poison had told her with a scowl. 

"Well, if you do it like that, you're gonna fuck it up." Poison rolls his eyes like she's an idiot, which she is, but he doesn't need to point it out. "Here, I'll help." Revolver's a little surprised, to be honest. Poison's always been weird about any kind of affection.

He kneels in front of her and eyes the bleaching strands of hair she's holding. "Gimme." He says, and she lets the strands fall into her hand. 

"Doesn't the bleach burn your skin?" She asks. He shakes his head. 

"Get hands as callused as mine, and hardly anything really hurts 'em. Except the obvious, of course."

He applies more bleach and runs his fingers through her hair. "Frankie made you look hella punk." He comments, leaning in closer to inspect how the bleach is drying. "I'm diggin' it."

She snorts. "Thanks." He smells like cigarettes and dirt, as he usually does, but sweat as well. She wrinkles her nose. "What, did you just get back from a Zone Run or something? You smell, like, fuckin' terrible." 

"Somethin' like that, yeah." He says breezily. He cranes his neck a bit to check on her hair again, and Revolver catches a glimpse of a forming bruise above his collarbone. She eyes it for a few moments before he sits back again and she loses sight of it. 

"Did you get in any fights?" He raises an eyebrow at her. 

"Why's that important? Never worried you before." He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it aside, sitting back on his haunches in front of her. 

"You got a bruise." She snickers slightly. "Was wondering where it's from." 

His cool composure flickers for a moment, but he returns her look cooly after a few seconds. "Bruises are normal. Where're we talkin', Miss Observant?" 

"Oh, nowhere." She grins at him. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Seriously, 'Volver. I'm too tired to deal with this." 

"Someone marked you." Her grin widens. "On your collarbone." 

He goes a little red and adjusts the collar of his shirt. "None of your fuckin' business, missy." 

"Hey, who you chose to fuck isn't my problem." She shrugs and leans back on her hands. "Was it Frank?"

He stares at her incredeously. "You little shit." 

 "That's not a no."

"That's a cue for you to shut the fuck up." He leans forward and runs his fingers through her bleached bangs. She raises both her hands in surrender. 

"Okay, okay. No need to get pissy." She pauses. "No, but seriously, was it Frank?"

"Shut the living hell up, Charlie." He stands up and pulls her to her feet. "Let's go wash this shit out." 

She follows him down the hall and leans over the sink in the kitchen as he turns on the water. As his fingers work their way through her newly-dyed tips, she hears someone enter the kitchen. 

"Oh, sweet, are we using water torture now?" It's Ghoul, and his speech is slighted, like he's talk out of the side of his mouth. She's assuming he's smoking a cigarette. "Always wanted to do that." 

"Cute, asshole." Poison responds. "This genius right here decided to dye her hair."

"Oh, awesome!" Poison must have shot Ghoul a glare, because he cuts off and coughs. "I mean, you should've asked for permission?" 

"Idiots." Poison mumbles. "All of you are idiots." He finishes the washing of her hair and turns the water off. "Sittup. Let's see how this turned out." 

She lifts her head, flipping her bangs back as she does so. They flop to the right, as per the usual, and she catches a glimpse of blonde in her line of sight. 

"Not too bad." Poison muses, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. "I like it. It's pretty rad." 

"Kick ass." Ghoul grins around the lit cigarette in his mouth. "Brings me back to the glory days." 

"You make us sound a thousand years old, Frankie," Poison complains as Revolver turns to check her reflection. 

"You do that yourself. Hey, is that a grey hair I see?" There's a resounding smack and a yelp from Frank. "Ow!"

Revolver ducks into the bathroom and looks in the dingy mirror. Her hair is still black, and the tips of her uneven bangs are a bright white blonde. "Cool." She says to no one in particular, given the emptiness of the room. 

She walks back out to find Ghoul in a chokehold, Poison's arm wrapped around his neck. He's squirming around, kicking and cursing, Poison looking on as if he's just a flea. 

Revolver's transmitter buzzes against her leg, and she unclips it without hesitation. "Yeah?"

"Is this Contemplation Revolver?" She semi-recognizes the voice on the other end, but radio signals garble everyone's speech anyways. She checks the feed on her radio-it's a Zone frequency. 

"Maybe." She holds it to her ear and waves a hand at Poison when he raises an eyebrow. "Who's asking?" 

"Who is it?" He mouths, ignoring Frank's slapping hand. She holds up a finger and walks down the hall into her room, dropping herself on the bed. 

"Broken Syndrome-" The name sends Revolver's heartbeat into a flutter. "-and company." She vaugely hears some other voices in the background.

"Oh, hi." She hopes she sounds relatively collected. "What's up?"

"The sky!" A distant voice yells. Broken groans and yells back. "Fuckin' shut up, Toxic! I'm tryin' to talk here!" She sighs slowly and her voice returns to normal pitch. The noise in the background has died down, so Revolver assumes she's moved someplace else. 

"Sorry about that. They're obnoixious as hell." Revolver hears the click of a lighter and a slow inhale. 

"That's alright. The Four are too." She props herself up on her elbows, the radio cushioned between her shoulder and ear. "Whatcha need?" 

"Wanted to talk to you, I guess." Broken exhales. "Wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away." Revolver toys with a string hanging from her shirt. 

"I know you said you don't get out much," Broken says. "But I'm goin' to a Mad Gear and Missle Kid show tonight and need someone to go with. None of my crew are feelin' up to it. Half of 'em are hungover as fuck." 

Revolver feels excitement. Broken was inviting her somewhere? No fucking way. "Sure." Revolver says, hoping she sounds casual. "That sounds fun."

"Awesome." Broken inhales again, and sounds like she's smiling. "Meet me at the edge of Five in two hours. Okay?"

"Okay." Revolver sends a hand through her still damp hair. "Sounds good. Yeah. Awesome." 

"Awesome." Broken giggles slightly. "See ya then, Miss Revolver." The line goes dead. 

Revolver stares at her radio for a few moments before tumbling off her bed and running down the hall. 

"Question, I-" She skids to a stop and stares when she runs into the kitchen.  _Fucking, finally_. 

Poison has Ghoul pressed up against the counter, one hand on his hip and another dipping his head back. And he's kissing him. 

Like,  _fiercely_ kissing him. 

Ghoul's eyes are closed, so he seems to be enjoying it. His tattooed fingers have wound themselves in the ends of Poison's hair, and he's leaning back against the counter to accomodate for Poison's pressing body.

When Revolver enters, Gerard breaks away and turns to look at her. He opens his mouth, snaps it shut and opens it again.

"Took you guys long enough." She says with a grin. 

"Not a word to anyone," He points at her and narrows his eyes. "You got that?" 

"Pretty sure it's damn obvious but, sure. Whatever." 

Frank looks a little dazed. "That was awesome."

"Yeah, yeah." Gerard mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you need, Revolver?"

"Can I go to the Mad Gear and Missle Kid show tonight?" He looks hesistant, so she shrugs and slides her hands into her pockets. "I mean, I could always get a hold of Doctor D's equipment and broadcast that Party Poison likes dick. More specifically, Ghoul's dick." 

Poison glares at her. "Blackmailing asshole."

"Dick-sucking hardass." Revolver shoots back with a grin. 

He groans. "Fine. No trouble though, ya hear?" He lets go of Ghoul, who's still blankly looking around, and walks over to Revolver. He ruffles her hair after a few moments of looking at her and pulls on her ear. "I hear about you startin' shit and I'll embarress you in front of all of your friends." 

She makes a face. "Ow, no tugging."

"Understand me, 'Volver?" He looks her in the eyes. "Those shows get rowdy."

"I'll be  _fine_ , Poison. Jeez." She tugs her ear away and sweeps hair from her eyes. "I've been to them before."

"Yeah, but you were always with us."

"And now I'm going to be a normal sixteen-year-old girl and go to a concert with some friends, okay? Chill."

"No unprotected sex," He says firmly, ignoring her screech of protest. "No fights, nothing stupid. If dracs show up, don't be the hero, just run. If you suck anyone off, I  _will_ find out." 

"Please shut up." She says desperately. 

"I'm serious."

"And I'm serious about you shutting up."

\---

Revolver had been standing at the edge of Zone Five for exactly fourteen seconds before Broken arrived, her Killjoy mask pulled over her eyes.

"Revolver?" Broken calls out. She turns around to see Broken walking towards her, a grin on her face. "Hi. I didn't know if you'd actually come." 

"I said I was going to, right?" Revolver hooks her thumbs in her pockets and ignores her pounding heartbeat. The moon is full, and the light of it is gracing Broken in a pale glow. "I keep my promises." 

"I like your hair," Broken pushes her mask up into her own hair and nods, looking Revolver up and down. "Completes the look."

"What look?" Revolver shifts under her gaze. 

"The whole gangly, awkward but somehow extremely punk vibe you got goin' on." Broken waves her hands. "I like it." 

She's glad for the dark, because she feels her exposed ears flare in a blush. "Thanks. Wanna go now?" 

"Yup." Broken pops the 'p'. They start down the road, quiet for a few moments save for the dull step of dirt underneath their shoes. "So," Broken says. "Revolver. Tell me about yourself."

"Uh, like what?" 

"Y'know. The usual. Favorite color-" She counts the topics off on each finger. "-what you're good at, weapon of choice, why you're so anxiously tugging on that stray piece of fabric from your glove." She looks over and grins at her. 

Revolver flushes red. "Oops." 

"I tend to ignite the worst in people. Don't take it personally, I'm just terrible." Her grin widens through the dark. 

"I'm a frequently panicked person. Don't flatter yourself." 

"I don't have to flatter myself, my ego is perfectly illuminated by your lack of one."

"No one even says illuminated anymore." They're coming up on the house where the show is being held. Revolver can hear music from inside. 

"I just did, so hence people still say it. You don't pay attention to a lot, do you?" Broken adjusts the collar on her vest and they reach the house moments later. 

The air inside is hazy with smoke and the heat of tightly-packed bodies. The band is going, and Gabe's already shirtless, so Revolver assumes things are going well. There are Killjoys everywhere, dancing and drinking and grinding on each other and just being generally rowdy. There's a lingering smell of sweat and a static of excitement, like every Killjoy is buzzing as the bass pounds and the guitars scream. Shows like this are a break for most Killjoys, a time when they can forget. 

Whether they forgot with people, pills or booze is a different story. 

Mad Gear looks absolutely estatic, doing inappropriate things to his partner Missle Kid-or William, as Broken refers to him-every ten seconds and just being generally excited. He calls out that they're going to try and do an old song, because "god fucking damn it sometimes you just gotta fuck somebody, and this is the song to do it to."

The open chords begin, and Revolver's being tugged forward by her belt loops before she can even process what's going on. Broken has her gripped tight as she pulls her into the crowd of people and within seconds their bodies are pressed together. Gabe is singing something about addiction and lust and something incredibly sexual that would make Revolver very uncomfortable if she weren't completely mesmerized by Broken, who was staring up at her with a grin. 

Revolver was all sharp angles and awkwardly pieced together bits while Broken was sloped lines and shades of colors Revolver couldn't hope to manifest. They fit together in the heat of bodies, hipbones-against-hipbones and chest-to-chest. Her heart was beating harder than she cared for, but the press of Broken's hands to the small of her back short-circuted her ever-running brain. 

It was incredibly intimate in a way Revolver had previously thought impossible in a room full of people. 

The song comes to an end and Broken's lips meet Revolver's ear. "Back room for a second, yeah?"

Revolver stumbles her way into a closed door, fumbling with the handle and falling into what seems to be a supply closest of sorts. It's relatively empty, save for a few boxes and some old coats. Broken slides in behind her and shuts the door, turning on Revolver and pinning her to the wall as soon as the door clicks shut. 

For a girl of about 5'2, she shouldn't be able to control Revolver as easily as she manages. With one thigh pressed between Revolver's leg and fingers tangling themselves in the ends of Revolver's hair, their mouths are pressed together in a fierce moment of....Revolver could almost call it desperation. Broken's lips hungrily searching Revolver's, frenzied gasps for breaths between teeth, pressure against her hips as Broken's hands finds it's way to encase one hipbone. 

"Fuck, you're beautiful." Broken almost growls the words at her, daring Revolver to disagree. The fingers entwined in the nape at Revolver's neck tighten. "So goddamned beautiful. I could take you against this wall right now if I wanted to." 

Revolver just nods, panting slightly. Her mind is racing with blank thoughts, save for Broken's name repeated and an ache she's never felt before. A craving for Broken's fingertips to trace patterns on her skin, the yearning to be claimed and made someone else's, for Broken to leave trails of marks and to be branded as hers. It's a little overwhelming, but Broken's started a steady grind against Revolver, so any hope for thought is gone. 

Suddenly, Broken drops to her knees and starts to undo Revolver's belt. She's got her pants undone within seconds and is pulling them down when the door flies open. 

If Revolver had died right then, she would've been happier than seeing who was standing outside the door.

 

 


	9. Unsteady

Revolver would have rather had been run down by a thousand draculoids than seen the look on Poison's face he opened that door. 

Of course, should she have been pressed up against a wall with a girl kneeling in front of her, hands reaching for her underwear? Probably not. Nonetheless, he should've knocked. Or something. 

He stares at Revolver, then down at Broken, and back up at Revolver. His expression goes from disbelief, to confusion, to absolute anger. 

_God fucking damn it._

Broken is on her feet within seconds, leaving Revolver to yank her pants up and fumble with her belt buckle. 

"Shit, um-" Broken begins but Poison cuts her off with a glare. 

"I don't even want to hear you talk. Get out of here, before I kick your ass." His tone is ice cold. Broken sends a glance to Revolver before slipping around him and disappearing. Revolver wipes some of Broken's lipstick from her mouth with the back of her hand and swallows nervously. She peeks at him from the corner of her eye, quickly looking away when she sees his expression. His mouth is set in a grim line, and his eyes are livid. 

She finally manages to do her belt and she turns to him, hoping she can manage to get a few words in before he starts off on her. "So, this might look bad, but-"

"Shut it." He snaps. "Come with me." He grabs her by the wrist, ignoring her yelp, and drags her through the crowd. She's thankful for the darkness and loud music, because she's not sure she can take much more embarrassment. She sees Broken sitting at the bar, talking to Gabe with a worried expression. She catches Revolver's eye and sends her an apologetic expression. 

Poison drags Revolver to the car, ignoring the way she's trying to pull her hand away, and turns on her with his voice dripping venom. 

"I don't want to hear a word. You get in the car, you shut up, and you let me drive. We'll discuss this at home."

"But-" She begins and he slams a hand on the hood of the car, making her jump.

"Not a  _word_ , Revolver!" 

She gulps and slides into the passenger seat. Revolver's seen Poison mad before, but it has hardly been directed at her. Normally, it explodes over something small-the car won't start, the radio is sending out the wrong signals, or someone is getting on his nerves. He usually hashes it out with Kobra, and then it's done. But this time, he won't even look at her. She can feel nervousness grow in her stomach and tries to take a deep breath without him noticing. 

The car ride is tense and silent, save for the tread of tires againsst the pavement and the rumble of the engine. Revolver glances out the window to see a starless sky and a pale moon, casting a whitewashed glow on the desert. Her heartbeat is pounding in her ears and she wrings her hands nervously. 

She tries again to talk, her voice trembling slightly. "Listen Poison, I-" 

"I swear to God, Revolver." His voice emits a dangerous growl. "Shut the fuck up."

"I'm just-"

 _"Charlie!"_ His yell makes her shrink back. Her birth name hits her ears like a curse word. "I told you to shut up! Can't you listen to one thing for about five seconds, please?" 

She nods quickly and stares at her lap. This isn't good at all. 

They finally arrive at the Diner, and Revolver can see the lights are on inside, but one of the motorcycles is gone. Poison turns off the car, getting aprubtly from the car and slamming the door behind him. He stalks inside, his fists clenched at his sides. 

Revolver exhales slowly and gets out of the car, following behind him with her heart pounding. As soon as she shuts the door behind her, she wishes she would've ran. 

Ghoul is sitting on the couch smoking, his expression worried as he watches Poison turn and cross his arms. Kobra is leaning against the opposite wall, his hands deep in his pockets and his expression unreadable. Revolver can tell from the set of his shoulders that he's none to happy with her, nonetheless. 

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't ground you for the rest of your natural life, Revolver." Poison grinds out between his teeth. 

Revolver drums her fingers nervously against her thigh. "Because you love me?"

"This isn't a joke, Revolver." Mikey's voice comes out even from across the room. "You can't weasel your way out of this one." 

"What,  _exactly_ , did I do wrong?" 

"How long have you known that girl, huh?" Poison challenges. "Barely two weeks? She saves your ass in a fight, and you think it's okay to let her go down on you?"

"That's not what it was." Revolver says, her cheeks going red. 

"Yeah? What was it then? Cheap sex so you could feel like a big girl, hm?" He glares at her. 

Revolver feels anger flare in her chest. "No."

"Then what  _was_ it?" He leans in, tilting his head slightly with mock interest. "Please, do explain, since you seem to know a fuck of a lot more than the rest of us." 

"It was...It wasn't anything!" She feels cornered, and defensive. "It's none of your business!" 

"It's definitely our business." He says angrily. "God, were you even thinking?" 

"Yes! Well, kind of...Fuck, you're turning my words around." 

"It looked to me like she showed you a bit of attention and you were dropping your pants for her." 

Revolver clenches her teeth. "That's not what it was. I'm not like that." 

"How can we trust you on that, huh? We can't even trust you to go out without us, apparently." He puts his hands on his hips. "Do you know how stupid you were being? The consequences of that shit, don't even get me started-"

"Like you're the best role model." She interrupts, her tone icy. "You think I haven't heard the quick fucks you used to bring home?" 

He stares at her with his mouth open. "How  _dare_ you. This isn't about me, it's about you, and how fucking stupid you were being!"

"I'm not stupid! Just because you are the leader of this stupid uprising, or whatever the hell you want to call it, doesn't mean you have the right to treat me like a soldier."

"Don't talk like that." Kobra says, eyeing them both warily. "You're both acting like dumbasses."

Poison ignores him. "You've got to be shitting me, Revolver. I can't believe you sometimes."

"Neither can I." Her chest is heaving. "I'm not going to take this shit from you anymore. I don't depend on you."

"Oh, that's rich." He sneers, and she wants to punch him in the mouth. Kobra must see her fist twitch, because he straightens out and sends her a warning glance. "You love the attention I give you. Always have, and always will."

"Shut the living hell up!" 

"Make me. You're just a whiny pathetic kid that thinks she can get whatever she wants just because her parents are dead. News flash, sweetheart. So are mine." He crosses his arms. 

The anger in her chest explodes. "I'm not a child!" 

"You are very much a child, Revolver!" His voice rises to a yell. "You like to act as if you're a high and mighty adult, with your tragic backstory and big eyes, but you're nothing more than a kid who doesn't know what the fuck she's doing!"

"You think I don't know that?" Revolver yells back. "I didn't ask for any of this!" 

Kobra starts to step forward. "Guys, that's-"

"I don't give a fuck if you asked for it or not!" Poison steps forward, his hands stretched and stiff. "None of us did, yet here we are! Deal with it, and stop acting like you have some right to do whatever you want."

"I'm not nine anymore, Poison. You can't keep on ordering me around like I'm some, some fucking  _lapdog_ -"

"As long as you live here, you'll do what I say!" He shouts. "You're so fucking lucky to have us. Stop acting so ungrateful."

"I am not ungrateful!" She yells. "You're putting words in my mouth!"

"See, see here's what I don't understand." He starts to stalk back and forth in front of her. "After everything,  _everything_ , we have taught you, why on Earth would you think it was okay to have sex with some random girl you met barely two weeks ago?"

"Killjoys don't exactly grow up normally, Poison." She forces out between her teeth. "I thought you'd know that by now."

"Yeah, but you aren't a normal Killjoy!" He turns on her, enraged. "We have worked so fucking hard to raise you right, and make sure you didn't end up like those no-good 'Joys that drink themselves into stupors and fuck with pills for the hell of it like that girl you were going to fuck in a fucking supply closet!"

"You've never been perfect, Gerard." She throws out his real name because her heart feels like it's on fire and she's so fucking angry. "You have to mess up something, don't you?"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that, Revolver." His tone is dangerously even for a man who was quaking with rage seconds ago. "And for twenty seconds, shut your mouth and just listen to me-"

"I don't have to listen to you." She interrupts, her fists curling. "You aren't my father. My father is dead." 

"Contrary to popular belief, you would be dead if it wasn't for us." 

"I know that." She grinds out. "That's not my fault. You're acting like I have some control in every single fucking thing I do. I'm not allowed to do one thing that's not been meticulously planned?" 

"You need to understand that you were being an immature, haughty teenager and a pain in the ass!" He growls. 

"And you need to understand that you're being a whiny, insolent  _prick_ -" 

_Smack!_

She sees his hand raised before she can react, and the slap that's delivered across her face makes her yelp in surprise. She stumbles sideways slightly, and gingerly touches her aching cheek, looking at him in disbelief. Poison has never hurt anyone other than a draculoid or S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. 

He's staring at his hand, the back knuckles red and irritated. He looks at Revolver's cheek, marked by his handprint, and drops his hand to his side. 

"Revolver, I'm-" 

She cuts him off by pushing past him and going to stalk down the hall. He grabs her wrist as she passes, and she turns on him with tears burning in her eyes.

"Don't fucking touch me."

He looks slightly wounded, and even winces. "Charlie, don't-"

 _"Don't call me that!"_ She wrenches her wrist from his hand and makes her way down the hall, her cheek stinging painfully. When she gets to her room, she slams the door behind her and sinks down against it, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She can hear Mikey talking to Gerard angrily, and footsteps in the hallway. 

"Revolver?" A soft voice sounds from outside the door. It's Ghoul. She bites down, hard, on her hand to get herself from crying. 

"Go away." She forces out. "I don't want to talk to anyone." 

"Baby-" Ghoul hasn't called her that since she was little, and hearing it now makes her want to cry even harder. "-Can I at least check your face and make sure it's not too hurt?"

She doesn't respond and he sighs. "C'mon, kid. I'll leave right after, I promise." She scoots away from the door and opens it, standing up and sitting down heavily on the edge of her bed. 

He switches the light on, illuminating the room in a yellowish glow, and closes the door behind him. He doesn't say anything about her swollen eyes, just kneels in front of her and presses a cool hand to her inflamed cheek. 

"He didn't break the skin." He mumurs around his cigarette. "That's good. Does it hurt real bad?" She shakes her head and blinks a few times. 

"I'm fine, Ghoul." She manages to speak clearly around her tight throat. "Please go away." He doesn't respond, just leans in and gently kisses her cheek where it's swelling the most. 

"He's sorry, you know." He murmurs, leaning his forehead against her temple. "He just gets...carried away."

"I know." She responds quietly. "He wasn't being fair." 

"Nonetheless, you weren't exactly being diplomatic yourself." He rubs her shoulder. "But yeah. He was a total asshole."

Revolver finally loses it, releasing a quiet and choked sob into the hand she presses to her mouth. Ghoul shifts so he's sitting next to her on her bed, their shoulders touching, as she cries into her hands. He pulls her into his chest, so she's leaning sideways against him, and presses his face into her hair. 

"It's okay." He repeats. "It's okay. You're okay." 

Revolver's not even sure why she's crying, she just knows that she's pissed off and that suddenly everything she had been trying to keep locked away was flooding her brain. She had always been relatively okay at keeping it in-she hardly lashed out, hardly cried and rarely did things to actually deal with what was going on inside her head. But fighting with Poison completely broke the wall she had built around any memories she had, and here she was crying like an idiot into Frank's chest. 

Finally, she tires out and can't go any longer without wiping her nose. She sits up and wipes her face on her sleeve. Hiccuping slightly, she sniffs and looks at Ghoul. "Sorry for snotting on you."

"It's not the first time." He grins slightly and stands up. "I'm going to go yell at Poison for a shitton of time, and then he's going to come and blubber and apologize to you, so be prepared. You're also grounded." She nods, and he kisses her forehead before exiting. 

Revolver exhales slowly and lays back in her bed, pressing her palms to her eyes. "Tonight certainly took an unexpected turn." She mumbles to no one in particular. "I almost got laid and got slapped. Awesome." 

She feels exhausted all of the sudden, her eyes aching and cheek stinging slightly, and the events of the night finally weighing in. She figures she'll have to talk to Poison-and Broken, for that matter-in the morning, and rolls over in bed to fall asleep.

Right as she's about to drift off, the door opens. She keeps her eyes closed, partially because she's too damned tired to open them and because she doesn't feel like talking to anyone else. The bed dips slightly as someone sits down, and she feels cool fingers brush across her blotchy cheek. 

"Goodnight." It's Poison, and he's whispering. "I'm so sorry." He kisses her cheek and sits for a few moments more before slowly standing up and shutting the light off. He exits and closes the door softly behind him. 

She's asleep moments later.

 

 

 

 


	10. Black Dragon Fighting Society

Revolver knows she would be lying if she said all was forgiven within the next week. If she had known how it was going to end, she's sure she would have made things up quicker than she did. 

The week was spent in terse silence; Poison avoided Revolver, and Revolver avoided Poison, and Ghoul desperately tried to get them to talk to each other. Jet stayed out of the way and it was always hard to tell if Kobra actually gave a shit in general. She sported a bruised cheek for about two days until the swelling went down-turns out his knuckles could make some heavy marks-but even when the marks were gone, she refused to talk to him. 

She's absently scanning one of the Zone magazines when there's a knock on the door. "What?" 

The door opens to reveal Jet holstering his gun, eyeing her warily. "Listen, there's some crazy shit erupting in the north of Zone Six, so we're heading out." 

"Who's 'we'?" She rolls onto her back, bare feet propped against the wall. 

"All of us." He tightens the strap of his holster. "So that means you stay inside, and out of trouble. Anything funny, we hear about it and you don't leave this room for a week."

She snorts. "It's real funny when you try to be authoritative, Jet, it really is."

"Fucking-" Jet sighs irritatedly, putting one hand on his hip. "Just listen, okay?"

"I'm listening."

"Stay inside. Don't try to leave, don't call anyone, nothin'. You're still-"

"Grounded." She cuts him off. "I know." 

"Yeah. And hey, we'll know if you-"

"Act up, act out, fuck up. I  _know_." 

"Watch it." Jet warns. "You brought this on yourself." 

"Whatever." She mumbles, turning a page. "Have a good time. Don't get shot." 

He pauses and sighs, tying his bandana around his neck. "Listen, 'Volver, I know you're pissed but-"

"I'm not pissed." She interrupts. "Please, just...just leave me alone, okay?" 

"Okay." He pushes curls from his eyes with both hands and gives her a tired smile. "We'll be back soon." He hesitates but closes the door and walks down the hall. There's a few minutes of footsteps and doors slamming, then the car engine fading signifies they've left.

Revolver sits up, closing her magazine and swinging her legs off the bed. "Guys?" She calls out cautiously. "Kobra? Jet, Ghoul? Poison?" Silence. She stands up and stretches out her stiff muscles from lying on her bed all day. 

Barefoot, she pads across the hallway into Poison's room, withdrawing her knife from the sheath that resides against her hip. She kneels at his cot, counting four floorboards in and feeling for the loosened screw. 

"You're going to regret the day you taught me to do this, Poison." She says under her breath as she wedges her knife below the loosened screw and wriggles the blade carefully. The screw pops loose and she slides the board out of the way to reveal a drawer of sorts. Inside is a bunch of stuff she's never thought to look at, and right on top is her transmitter. She grins, takes it and haphazardly puts the board back into place. 

She switches it on as she heads to the kitchen, sitting atop the counter and dialing the number she's kept scrawled inside her notebook since first attaining it three weeks ago.

"Hello?"

Revolver smiles at the sound of Broken's voice. "Hi. It's Revolver. Do you, uh-Do you remember me?"

"Of course I remember you! Shit, dude, I thought he killed you!" There's the sound of something crashing and a few muttered "Oh, fuck, shit," from Broken, then her voice returns. "Oh man, I'm sorry for getting you in trouble. That totally wasn't my intention." 

"I would hope not." Revolver snickers slightly. 

"Dude, I still feel bad about it. I didn't mean for, like, any of that to happen. I just...well, I mean I'm sure you understood the point of why we were in that closet anyways, but y'know. I didn't mean for you to get in trouble. You probably hate me, fuck."

"I don't hate you." Revolver laughs. "It's not your fault. You just...persuaded my mind elsewhere." 

"I  _persuaded_ you." Broken gasps. "I'm a rapist!"

"You're not a rapist." Revolver laughs harder. "F-Fuck, you're hilarious. Oh my God." 

"This is not a laughing matter." Broken says seriously, causing Revolver to snort and fall off the counter. 

"Oh my God!" Broken says after she hears the crash and Revolver's hiccuping laughter. "Did I kill you? I killed Contemplation Revolver!" 

"You didn't kill me." Revolver gasps out between bouts of laughter. "Fuck, I can't breathe. Oh man." She exhales slowly. "Okay, okay." 

"I got kind of worried when you didn't call me back. I thought they buried you six feet under in the back." 

"Too much work," Revolver massages her side, giggling still. "They would've burned me first. I was just grounded."

There's a pause, and Broken speaks slowly. "...They grounded you? What is this, 2008?" 

"Ask them." Revolver stands up and brushes off her pants. "Poison and I fought, man."

"Like, fistfight or dad-and-kid fighting?" 

Revolver makes a face. "The second one." 

"Wicked." Broken must light up a cigarette, because there's the click of a lighter and an exhale. "Did you tell him you hated him? Did you stomp out of the room and go cry in your room to Fall Out Boy?" 

"No." Revolver rolls her eyes, but grins anyways. 

"Did you write emo poetry about how 'Mom and Dad just don't understand?' I've been there, man. We all have." Broken inhales and exhales slowly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"No!" Revolver laughs. "Jesus. But they're out now, chasing a call, and the house is empty..."

"You're grounded, and you're inviting me-a sketchy Zone girl that you met in a bar-over? And you're alone?" She draws out the last word. "Scandalous." 

"You wanna come over or not?"

"Touchy, touchy," Revolver can hear the grin in Broken's voice. "What's in it for me, sweetheart?"

"You have three guesses." Revolver smirks and chews on a hangnail. "Also, I have booze."

"Sold." Broken says automatically. "I'll be there in ten." 

Revolver hangs her transmitter on her belt and spits the hangnail into the sink. Her heart has started pounding, which she hadn't noticed until now. She takes two dusty bottles of beer from the locked cabinet, which she had broken open moments before, and sets them on the counter to wait. She can feel guilt gnawing at the corner of her stomach, but she pushes it away-they left her alone, and she's a stupid teenager. Let her act like one for once. 

Around 9 minutes later, there's a quick rap of knuckles on the door. "It's Broken. Or is it?" Broken calls. Revolver grins and leaps from the stool, opening the door and wiggling her fingers at Broken. 

"Hello, hello, hello," Broken says as she ducks under Revolver's arm and turns to look at her. "Nice to see you again." 

"Hi." Revolver shuts the door and locks the latch. "You too. Beers on the counter." 

"Fuck yeah!" Broken breaks the cap off with her teeth and takes a swig, sighing contentedly. "Awesome. Okay, if you were grounded, how'd you get your transmitter? Isn't that kind of, I dunno, part of the grounding?" She takes another drink. 

Revolver sits across from her and opens her own bottle with a knife. "Yeah. Poison keeps all his stuff under his bed, so I just...I dunno." She swallows a mouthful of lukewarm beer. "Took it back. Wasn't his to take anyways." 

"Punk rock." Broken puts a cigarette in the corner of her mouth and pauses before lighting it. "You don't mind if I smoke, yeah?" 

"Nah I don't care." 

Broken lights up and exhales smoke through her nose. "Good, 'cause I was going to anyways. So what's up with breaking the rules all of the sudden? Last I checked, you were Daddy's Little Girl." She grins around the stick in her mouth. 

Revolver scowls. "He's not my father." 

Broken holds up her hands in mock-surrender. "It's an expression, babe." Chills drip down Revolver's spine. "What I mean is, what's up with the rule-breaking? You're, like, every Zone kid's model citizen." 

"Didn't ask to be." Revolver swallows a few more drinks. "I don't know. Didn't feel like being an ass-kisser anymore."

"Prison changed you." Broken says seriously, and Revolver snorts a laugh. "So, Miss Independent, you just call me over to complain and get drunk, or were you planning something else?" 

Revolver feels the tips of her ears go red. "Oh, er, I dunno, I-"

"I'm not a fan of small talk, remember, Revolver?" Broken says softly, leaning across the counter. Revolver can smell her, the tinge of beer and nicotine on her breath, but something else too. Vanilla. "Answer the question." 

"I was wondering if, uh, we could, um-" Revolver stammers, silencing when Broken's grin distracts her. "Uh, finish what we started." 

"Why didn't you just say so, darlin'?" Broken laughs and leans back, finishing her bottle and taking another slow drag. "But no. No, we can't." 

"Uh...no?" Revolver is immensely confused. "Why no?" 

"Because." Broken shrugs off her jacket and let's it drape over the edge of the stool. "I'm no good for you. You're young, and you need someone who isn't a seedy crash queen like me, baby. Not that you're not desirable." Her eyes flit up and down Revolver's body. "Trust me, you are." 

"Maybe I don't want anyone else." 

Broken raises an eyebrow. "How do you know?" 

Revolver shrugs. "I don't know. Just do. I've...I've spent years being dragged to bars and clubs with those boys. I'd sit at the bar alone until they were done with their Zone Player or whatever. Then we'd go home. I never go out, I don't do any of that. But you...you make me want...you make me want to break the rules." 

Broken blinks at her. "I do?" 

"Yeah," Revolver nods. "And I, uh, want to get to know you better. Y'know? Plus, we'll both be dead soon." There's something knowing in Broken's eyes, but Revolver can't place it. "I mean, you probably have access to any Killjoy out there, but-"

"Revolver." Broken cuts her off. "I get it. It's okay. I...No one has ever, no one's ever talked to me like that." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah." Broken takes another long drag, the burning cigarette stained with her red lipstick. "Yeah, I haven't been a good kid like you. So, I'm just kind of...replaceable. I'm replaceable."

"I don't think you're replaceable." Revolver says, and she honestly believes it. "I've never been...I've never been attracted to, like, anybody. No one, okay? And you...you attract me. And not only in the sex way. There's a lot of things to you, and I'd like to figure those things out." 

"I'm complicated." Broken says quietly. 

"Life's complicated." Revolver leans on her elbows and looks at Broken. "Get used to it." 

Broken laughs slightly and leans over to Revolver, her lips brushing Revolver's lightly. "Fine. Now show me your emo poetry." 

\---

They spend the next few hours laughing and talking, and Revolver almost forgets she's supposed to be grounded. Revolver shows her all of Poison's hidden records, the one's he keeps stored in the wall, and Broken teaches Revolver to stand on her head. 

They make out for a bit too, and Revolver tries to keep as cool as possible. But when Broken nips at her exposed collarbone, she starts to whine and Broken starts to laugh. 

"You've really never had sex? Ever?" Broken says later on, when they're sitting on the ground, Revolver with one arm around Broken. Broken's smoking another cigarette. "Not even once?" 

"Nope." Revolver sighs. "I'm so lame. I have been kissed though."

"Who?" 

"His name was Bones." Revolver laughs. 

"Wait, like Zone Player Bones? No way. You kissed Zone Player Bones." Broken snickers. 

"He's a really nice dude. I was fifteen, and he tried to pick me up for a job. He offered to go down on me for like, twenty carbons." 

"You should've done it." Broken sucks a drag. "He's hot." 

"Yeah, but knowing his mouth has probably been on or around Poison's dick makes me want to puke." Revolver shudders. "Plus, I was fifteen. Poison would've ended me." 

"He's real protective." Broken snorts. "Kind of weird." 

"Tell me about it." Revolver mutters, rubbing her sore cheek. "It's exhausting, annoying and obnoxious." 

"You use big words and it's weird." Broken pats her cheek. "Why don't you talk like normal Killjoys? Poison does." 

"Never picked it up, I guess." Revolver shrugs. She pauses and listens for a car outside. "Weird. They've never been gone this long before." 

"They're fine." Broken waves a hand. "Probably having some mass orgy in the mid-" 

She's cut off when Revolver's transmitter crackles to life. There's a barrage of sound transmitting, gunshots and yells. 

"H-Help!" It's Kobra, and he sounds terrified. "This is Kobra Kid, out in Z-Zone Six-there's too many, we've got to- _fuck!_ -we need help, this has gone way Costa Rica and- _motherfucker!_ -we need help, now!" The line cuts out. 

Revolver flies to her feet and turns to Broken, who's staring at her. "We have to go." 

"It sounds like it's a fuckin' mess, and you want to run  _into_ it?" Broken looks dumbfounded. "We-I mean-There's gotta be other 'Joys that are heading for it?" 

"I don't care, we gotta go. Fuck, you don't have to come, okay?" Revolver shoves her gun into the holster strapped to her leg and ties her bandana around her neck. "You can wait here, or-"

"No, it's fine." Broken looks pale. "It's okay, I'm fine. Uh-" She slides her gun holster over her shoulder and tugs on her jacket. 

"I hope you're comfortable on a motorbike." Revolver says as she pulls on her vest and gloves, grabbing keys from the wall. Broken goes paler. "Come on!" 

\---

Revolver hears the firefight before she sees it. It's huge, and it looks like more Killjoys have joined, but it's not enough; the screams aren't hard to miss over the laser beams. She pulls the bike into a stop and leaps off, Broken following shakily behind. 

"We-We're running right into that?" Broken stammers, eyeing the fight from their position about 200 feet away. 

"Yes." Revolver says automatically. "You don't have to, but I am. I have to-I have to find them. Mikey doesn't scream like that. He never does that." She unsheathes her brilliant black blaster and starts to head for the fight.

"Wait!" Broken yells. "You can't, you can't just run in!"

"Are you a Killjoy or not?" Revolver shouts back. "Come on!" Broken looks terrified but pulls out her gun and follows. 

The scene is chaos; Revolver nearly gets shot within the first seconds. Dracs are dropping like flies, but so are Killjoys, and the dracs keep multiplying. Revolver catches sight of Ghoul, his green gun discharging fast lasers without stopping, and Poison back-to-back. Poison's masked and his mouth is set in a dangerous grimace. Kobra's fighting across the way, his gun resting against his leg as he fights hand-to-hand. Jet's bleeding, but fighting alongside a Killjoy Revolver doesn't recognize. A Killjoy falls in front of Revolver, blood spurting from their back and onto her face as they die at her feet. She wipes her face with her glove and starts to fire, stepping over the body.

"S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/S!" Someone yells, and sure enough, Revolver's worst nightmare steps into the fray. S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/S are every Killjoy's monster in the closet; They're merciless, trained, skilled killers. They're nearly impossible to kill, and impossibly good at murder. There's about ten of them, and advancing lines of draculoids make Revolver's stomach run cold. She dodges a grab and lands a laser in a draculoids chest before killing three more. That's before a terrified yell of _"Jet!"_ pulls her gaze up. 

The scream came from Mikey, his eyes wide and mouth gaping open in a shout. Revolver follows his eyes, and lets out a scream herself. 

Jet's on his back, a gun shoved below his chin. There's a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W above him, head cocked slightly to the side. 

 _This can't be happening,_ Revolver thinks as she starts to fire in the direction of the masked soldier. Jet's eyes meet hers for a split second before his head is blown out the back by a laser-beam. 

A numbing silence cloaks Revolver, and she comes to a stand still. All she can see is Jet, mouth hanging open and blood pooling in the sand, and his dying eyes. There's no noise except the pounding of her own blood in her ears, and the sound of somebody screaming. Her body feels cold.  _Jet's going to stand up in a few seconds,_  She thinks numbly.  _He has to. C'mon Jet, get up. Get up._  

She feels something hot dripping down her cheeks. She feels them with dazed fingers. Tears? Why is she crying?  _Jet, get up._

Two arms wrap around her shoulders and she's being tugged away, but she doesn't want to move- _Jet's going to get up soon. We can't leave him._   _  
_

It all comes crashing back at once-the lasers discharging and the screaming. It takes a few moments for her to register the one screaming is her.

"No! No, Jet get up!" She's screaming, but it doesn't feel like her. It feels far away. "Wake up, Jet, Oh  _God_ , wake up! Jet!" 

"Charlie, Charlie, ssh." _Is that Patrick? Why does his voice sound so thick?_   "Ssh, don't cry, come on, we gotta get out of here, we have to-" 

Another shout meets her ears, and her spine chills. " _Ray!_ " It's Mikey.  _Mikey doesn't scream like that. That can't be Mikey, not my Mikey, no._ "Ray, wake up, you bastard! Don't be dead, n-no wake up! Ray, wake up, god damn it!" 

"We have to get out of here!" Poison's yell is high among the others. "I want every dust angel out of here! Go, go!"  _He doesn't sound like he's crying._

 _"_ Revolver, stop struggling, it's okay, you're safe, I-" Patrick says quietly and Revolver can't remember struggling, why is he telling her to stop? 

"Let go of me, I h-have to see him, let go, Patrick, let me go!" She yells, tears streaming tracks down her dirty face. "Let me go!" 

" _Ray Toro, wake up!"_ Kobra yells. Revolver wrenches her face away from Patrick's shoulder so see him on his knees, two hands balled in Jet's jacket and tears streaming down his face. "No, Ray,  _no_ -" He moans, pressing his face to Jet's chest and wrapping his arms around him. "No, no, no, no, no..." 

"Get her in the car." Patrick commands and Revolver's pulled away from him. She feels dissociated and dazed, but her body isn't listening to her. She's still screaming for Jet, still struggling, so much so that Pete has to wrestle her into the backseat. 

"Ssh, Revolver, calm down." Broken's there? In the back seat? What car are they in? "It's okay, I have you, it's okay." Broken puts her hands on either side of Revolver's tear-streamed face. "Ssh, you're okay." 

"J-Jet, he's-" Revolver stammers and Broken silences her with the shake of her head. 

"Don't talk, it's okay, just relax. Breathe." She pulls Revolver down so her shaking shoulders are enveloped within Broken's arms. "Calm down, breathe." 

"I-I can't, we have to, Jet, he's out there and we h-have to-" Revolver clings to Broken's sleeve and starts to cry in earnest. "No, not Jet, please,  _no_ ," 

"I'm so sorry," Broken repeats over and over. "I'm so, so sorry." 

The car starts and squeals away, leaving the sounds of Kobra's screaming and the firefight dying in Revolver's ears. She can't stop seeing his eyes, dark and sad, and blood, so much blood- 

She goes limp in Broken's arms. 

 


	11. Condolences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning, there is some girlxgirl smut at the end of this chapter. Surprise!

Revolver doesn't remember getting back to the Diner, nor getting into bed, but she wakes up the next morning in her dirty fighting clothes under a blanket. Pale sunlight is streaming through the window aside her bed and she blinks at it curiously. She doesn't remember falling asleep. 

The usual morning noise is happening down the hall-cabinets closing, footsteps, cups clinking on the counters. The only thing missing is the chatter. Nobody is talking. She struggles up-someone had decided she was in need of about forty blankets apparently-and looks around. The cot across from her is empty, so Ghoul must be awake. Something's amiss, but she can't place it. She gets out of bed, stiff and tired, and takes one step before her eye catches on something lying across Ghoul's cot. 

Jet's jacket. 

Everything hits her at once, and it feels as though the air has been sucked from her lungs. She holds her side and forces herself to inhale and exhale slowly through her nose. She doesn't dare open her mouth, afraid she'll be sick. Her fingertips run over the worn leather and toy at the fraying edges. "Breathe, Charlie, breathe," She whispers hoarsely. "You have to breathe." 

"Revolver? Are you awake?" Kobra's voice sounds outside the door. He sounds exhausted, and his voice is sore. 

"I'm awake," Her voice cracks painfully. "One second, please." 

"Are you okay?" He starts to open the door. 

"No!" She nearly shouts, then takes a breath. "I mean, yes. Hold on, please." The door slowly creaks shut, but he doesn't make any sound of movement. 

She forces air in and out of her lungs, twisting her fingers in her hair. The world won't stop spinning, and she feels suffocated. "K-Kobra, I-" 

He opens the door and wraps his arms around her. Tears blind Revolver's sight, and she hooks her fingers into his shirt. "Kobra, he...he's..." 

"I know," He chokes. "I know." He tightens his grip on her. "I know, I'm so sorry. We...We had to go and collect his body, we had to burn him, Charlie, we had to-" She pulls her face from his chest to see tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut. His shoulders are shaking. "God, we had to burn his body, and now he's gone, my best friend, he's gone and I, I couldn't do anything about it." Revolver's never seen Kobra cry before yesterday, and up close breaks her heart even more. His bottom lip quivers and he keeps his eyes shut to the world as if that would take away some of the pain that's pounding in his heart. "He's gone. Ray's gone. This isn't..." He releases a choked sob. "This isn't fucking fair." 

"Kobra," Revolver begins, and bites her lip. "Mikey, breathe." 

"I can't breathe, I can't, he-he's dead, they killed him, he's gone." Kobra says, his voice thick. "Dead, Charlie, dead." His knees start to buckle and Revolver has to brace herself to hold him up. 

"Poison!" She yells as he starts to go down, struggling to hold his weight against her. Poison runs down the hall and takes one look at Kobra before hooking his hands under Kobra's arms and helping Revolver lay him down. 

"He, He just passed out, I don't know what happened, I-" Revolver stammers as Poison lays a hand across his brother's forehead. 

"It's okay." His voice is strangely even. "He had a panic attack, it's okay. He used to get them all the time. Here, help me get 'im up here. He'll lay in your cot for a bit." Together, he and Revolver lift Kobra onto her bed, and she puts a quilt over him. She wipes his cheeks gently with her sleeve and Poison has to tug on her sleeve to get her attention. 

"We're holding a service for him." He meets her eyes. "Can you handle that?" She nods numbly and he gives a quick nod in response. "Okay. Get dressed." She nods again and he pauses before lying a hand on her cheek gently. "Hey. Everything's gonna be fine, okay?" 

She sniffs, nodding once more. He leaves her to get dressed, his boots clicking down the hall, and she turns around to reach under her bed for her trunk. Withdrawing it, she kneels and undoes the latches, thoughts running through her head. What are they going to do now? It was always the  _Four_ Fabulous Killjoys. Jet was a key member. He was more than that, he was a genius. He kept their heads level. He taught Revolver to play guitar. What were they going to do without him? 

She shakes her head and pulls out a black dress she's owned for years. She remembers the precise time she got it-it was a sort of present, from Poison. She was nine. 

 _Listen here, 'Volver._ He had told her seriously, kneeling in front of her after they entered a dusty shop. He had worn his "serious talk" face, as Revolver liked to call it.  _We're going to buy you something today, something I hope you never have to use. Okay? It's important that you listen to me._  

 _Okay._ She had said. He took her hand and lead her into the back of the store, wear all of the colors disappeared. She had felt the different fabrics with awe. 

 _Revolver,_ Poison had began, not looking at her, but the rows in front of him.  _Every Killjoy has three outfits. You remember what they were, kiddo?_

 _Fightin' clothes, sleepin' clothes, and mournin' clothes._ She parroted diligently. 

_Righto, baby, good job. Today we're gonna get you ya mournin' clothing', okay? That alright with you?_

She remembered feeling nervous. Why did she need mourning clothes? Was somebody going to die? She had asked him that quietly, and he had laughed. 

 _Someday, yup. But not today. You think someone's gonna take down your old man in his prime, now do ya?_ She had giggled as he poked her nose.  _No, no mournin' today. But we gotta make sure you're good and ready when the time comes. You...You're only goin' to have to wear this if one of us gets ghosted, alright? It's for special occasions only. You think that's okay?_

_Yeah. But I don't want any of you to get dusted._

_Aw, sugar._ He had pressed a kiss atop her head and ran his thumb along her cheek with a sad sigh.  _Not anytime soon, I promise ya. Now pick one out._  

Now Revolver was sixteen, and the owner of that dusty store had died two years ago when he was dragged to Better Living and exterminated alongside fifteen others. Revolver shakes her head again, coughing at the dust that rose as she opened the trunk. She stands up and lays the dress next to Jet's jacket, avoiding the look of it, empty without it's owner. Stripping out of her dusty Killjoy uniform, she chucks it into a pile by her trunk and dreads the thought of having to put it back on again. She stares at the dress for a few moments before sighing heavily and sliding it over her head. The dress was never meant to fit her until she got older, as it rests right above her knees now and is slightly loose at the chest. She actually releases a choked laugh as she remembers Ghoul telling her being flat-chested wouldn't always have it's perks. 

The dress feels soft in an alien way, unlike everything else she owns that's worn and tired from desert life, and she runs her fingers up the back to zip it into place. 

"You look beautiful." Kobra says quietly, and she startles. 

"Fuck, Kobra, you scared me! Don't do that!" She clasps the zipper at the top. "Thanks, though. I feel...weird." 

He sits up and runs both of his hands down his face. He needs to shave, and sleep. He looks exhausted beyond words. "Well, you look amazing. In a really gut-twisting, sad way. Did I pass out?" 

"Yeah," She pulls on the fishnets she keeps in her trunk and her fighting boots. She stares at herself in the dirty mirror opposite the door, debating on her hair. "You did. Do you remember any of it?" 

"No." He stands up, putting his hands in his pockets. "I, uh, probably have to go get dressed." She can tell by the way his gaze is glued to the ground and his cheeks are flushing red, he remembers all of it. "I'm sorry for...for freaking out." 

"Mikey," She turns to look at him, displaying a small smile. "It's okay. Honestly. Now go get dolled up so I don't look like an idiot." He nods, blonde hair falling into his eyes, and exits as he closes the door behind him. 

She pushes her hair out of her face, running her thin fingers through it in an attempt to fix it, before giving up and pulling her jacket over her dress. Her vest lies on the floor, her gun holster atop it. She kicks it under her bed and walks into the front room. 

Ghoul is sitting at the counter, his eyes rimmed with red. His gaze is focused in his cup, which is pressed to his lips. It doesn't appear he's drinking anything. His Killjoy uniform is gone, replaced with a black collared shirt tucked into black pants. He cut his hair, Revolver notices; it's no longer falling along his shoulder, instead buzzed in the back and long in the front. His nose ring has made a reappearance, and his tattooed hands are covered by gloves inked with skeleton bones. 

"Hi, Frankie," She says quietly, walking over and sitting next to him.

"Hi, beautiful." He sends her a watery smile. "How are you?" 

"I'm okay." She swallows and watches his silver ring glint in the sunlight. "I'm okay." 

Poison enters, his blazing red hair freshly dyed. "Pulling out all the stops, are we?" Revolver asks, leaning forward on her elbows. Hair dye is a rarity, even for the Four...er, Three. 

"Gotta make myself presentable, don't I, darlin'?" Poison takes a drink from Ghoul's cup and tugs on the collar of his shirt. "Fuck, I feel like a dolled up monkey in this gettup." He's got on a black collared shirt to match Ghoul, and tight black pants. His gun is freshly polished and strapped to his leg. A worn red tie is loosely hanging around his neck. 

"You're gonna knock 'em dead, baby." Ghoul says in a hoarse voice. Poison rubs between his shoulder blades and kisses behind his ear. Revolver watches them, trying to ignore the way Ghoul's hands won't stop shaking. 

"How many people are coming? We've never...I didn't even know Killjoys had funerals." Revolver asks, toying with one of her bracelets. Poison looks over at her and shrugs, one shoulder rising. 

"Dunno, babe." He releases Ghoul and walks across the kitchen, his recently-washed boots clicking against the wood. "Have you eaten?" 

"No," She watches him and frowns. "What are we going to do? You already burned him, didn't you?" Ghoul's fingers tighten on his cup. Poison gets a can from the cupboard and opens it with his knife, spooning some of the mess into a bowl. She raises an eyebrow. He usually just hands her the can. He hasn't put it into a bowl for her in years. She's too busy watching Ghoul spin his ring to notice him remove a dusty bottle, unscrew the cap, and take a long drink before setting it on the counter.

"I don't know, Revolver." He slides it to her, and she catches the bowl between her hands. "Some people are gonna show up, we pay our regards, and then have a party. Okay? Any more questions?" His tone is a little snappish, and she looks away. 

"No. Sorry." She spoons the dog food into her mouth and swallows. It tastes worse than normal today. Kobra enters as she swallows her second bite, and she watches him adjust his shirt carefully. He's dressed like the other two, but he's left his shirt open, with a black t-shirt underneath. His brilliant red gun resides on his hip, and his eyes are rimmed in dark circles. He probably hasn't slept. 

"Hey, little brother. You clean up nice." Poison comments, taking a bite of Revolver's food. "Not too shabby." 

"Thanks. Not feelin' too shiny though." Kobra mumbles, sending his long fingers through his dirty-blonde hair. It's starting to get darker, Revolver notices. 

"None of us are," Ghoul swallows another mouthful of the bitter coffee. "Welcome to the party." 

"Hey, Poison?" Revolver speaks up, and he looks over at her with a raised eyebrow. "You dye your hair with regular dye right?" 

"Yeah," He answers, one eyebrow cocked. "Duh. What else would I do it with?"

"Rumor has it you use drac blood." 

He starts to grin. "Ain't too bad of an idea, darlin'. Maybe we can find those motherfuckers that dusted Jet and use their dirty blood, hm?" He flips his hair over his shoulder and straightens his shirt. "I'm goin' out for a smoke." 

\---

Suicide and Rev are the first to arrive, with Broken trailing behind. Rev's hat is pulled low over his brow, but there's an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes that accompanies his shaking voice. Suicide leads Kobra outside as soon as he finishes shaking Poison and Ghoul's hands, one hand firm on the other's shoulder. Broken apologizes under her breath to Poison and Ghoul before making her way over to Revolver. 

Her fingers interlace with Revolver's, and Revolver takes a slow, deep breath. "I'm so sorry," Broken says quietly, running her thumb across Revolver's palm. "So, so sorry." Poison is eyeing the two of them with a slightly sour expression, his lips pressed tight together. 

More Killjoys are filing in by the minute, and Revolver recognizes a few of them-Mad Gear, X-Kid, Monster, Velocity, Venom, Ghost, even Atomic Panic with his hat pulled low and collar popped. There's a lot she doesn't know-Zone Runners and dust angels alike, all with saddened expressions towards the trio standing by the kitchen. One Killjoy catches Revolver's eye-he's tall and lanky, with one startling blue eye and the other a pale green. His hair is clean, dark, and curled across his forehead. He's covered in tattoos and both of his hands are firmly in his pockets. At his side is a mangy-looking dog. He looks off-put and nervous as he crosses the room and shakes Poison's hand. 

"I'm sorry about Jet." His voice is quiet and deep, and he never meets Poison's eyes. "I'm really sorry." 

Poison nods and releases his hand. "It's all good, man. Was bound to happen one day." He looks skeptically at the Killjoy. "What's your name, kid?" 

"People call me...Uh..." He shifts uncomfortably, and Ghoul speaks up gently. 

"The Mad Proctor, yeah?" He shakes Proctor's hand. "Nice to meet you, dude. Heard you're good with a scalpel." 

Proctor looks up, his eyes flashing with fear. "Um, yeah. I just...try to help." He notices Revolver's focus on the panting dog, because he sends her a weak smile. "You like dogs? This is Kutulu." 

"Kutulu." Revolver repeats, trying out the name. 

"Like the legend?" Broken asks, and the Proctor nods. 

"Yeah. He's not much of a monster though." Revolver lends her hand to the dog's nose and he licks it curiously. She kneels and the dog presses it's head to her shoulder with a small bark. 

"Hi, buddy." She says into his ear. His tail is thumping against Proctor's leg. "You're so handsome, oh hello, yes, does my face taste good?" The dog is furiously licking her chin, and Proctor rolls his eyes. 

"Kutulu, you're gross. C'mon, bud." Kutulu sits at Proctor's feet as Revolver stands up, wiping her chin with a small smile. "It's nice to meet you, Revolver." He shakes her hand, squeezing it slightly. "Sorry it's under these circumstances." 

"Me too. This is Broken. She's, uh..." Revolver looks over at Broken, searching for a title. 

"Her friend. Really good friend." Broken shakes Proctor's hand. "Nice to meet you, dude. I've heard lots about you." Proctor nods and waves, taking himself and his dog back across the room. 

"Can't believe that's the actual Mad Proctor." Broken mumbles, and Revolver turns to look at her curiously. "What? You've never heard of him?" Revolver shakes her head. 

"Rumor has it he's a mistake," Ghoul says, lighting a cigarette. "One Better Living couldn't fix." 

"He's a genius." Broken continues. "Smarter than all of us combined. Skilled practitioner. But...I heard he's not alone. Up here." She taps her temple. 

"What, like he's crazy?" Revolver asks, and Ghoul laughs bitterly, exhaling smoke. 

"He's insane." He flicks ash. "Whatever they did to him, like, created this...alter ego. They call it the Madness. I heard it's somethin' out of a horror film." 

"Hey." Poison says firmly, looking over at them. "Stop talkin' about our guests." 

Ghoul exhales smoke in his face and walks into the crowd, shaking hands and hugging people as he goes. Poison's gaze drops to Broken's hand tightly wrapped around Revolver's. 

"You guys, like, a thing now?" Poison's voice is dripping with something Revolver can't place, but it isn't pleasant. 

"Stop it, Poison." 

Broken shifts uncomfortably. "I, uh, I don't know." 

"Mm. Listen, you fuck her-" He ignores Revolver's hissed "Poison!". "-I'll hear about it. And I'll kill you." Broken stares at him open-mouthed. A realization hits Revolver suddenly-his breath reeks of cheap alcohol and his eyes are unfocused.

"You're drunk." Revolver says blankly. "Are you fucking kidding me? You're  _drunk_?" 

He levels a glare on Revolver. "Watch your mouth." 

"I can't believe you." She's not even angry, just in a state of utter disbelief. "I cannot  _fucking_ believe you." 

"I said, watch your fucking mouth." He growls, leaning in close to her face. Broken looks nervous when Revolver doesn't pull away. 

"You're so full of shit. We need you to be here,  _now_ , Poison." Poison's eyes flare, but Revolver keeps on going. "Jet's dead, and you're going to get so fucking wasted you won't be able to walk, and you're going to leave the three of us to clean up after you? Huh? The fuck kind of a leader does that, huh Poison?" 

"I swear to God, Revolver, if you weren't-" 

"What, what if I wasn't sixteen?" Tears drips down her cheeks, and she's not sure why. "If I wasn't smaller? If I wasn't weaker? If I wasn't some, some stupid meant-to-be prodigy who can't do shit, and certainly can't save her friend?" She laughs hollowly. 

"You need to shut your mouth." Poison forces out between his teeth. "I've had it up to here with you and your-"

"Ability to call you out, because hell knows no one else will!" 

"Revolver." Broken tugs on her sleeve. "Come on." 

"Stay out of this." Poison sends her a scathing glare, and to Revolver's surprise, Broken returns it. 

"You're being a dick. And I can smell the booze on your breath from here." 

Poison's glare hardens and Revolver notices Ghoul turn toward them from across the room. Rev notices too, and he starts to weave through the crowd. 

"We should've let you die." Poison says, his voice emotionless and flat. "You're the cause of this. All of this." 

"I wish you did." Revolver fires back. "I hate you. I hate you, Gerard! I  _hate_ you!" 

"No you don't." Poison starts to laugh humorlessly. "You love me. I have done nothin' but dote over you, darlin', and Jet never gave you half the attention I did. Admit it, you'd be gone without me." 

Patrick pulls Poison back by his arm and steps between them. "Both of you," His voice is firm. "Separate. You're not doing this now." 

"Revolver, come on." Broken takes her hand and leads her away. Revolver's shaking with anger, and she sees Rev speaking firmly, if not angrily, to Poison, and she has never hated somebody so much.

\---

The service goes by in a blur-it's all tears and apologies and if Revolver has to see Kobra cry one more time, she might physically die of heartbreak. Jet's jacket is burned alongside his gun in a pyre, and Revolver can't help but wish she could burn with him. 

She's shaken more hands than she can count, and accepted numerous hugs, all throughout the day and the ebbing need to scream won't leave her gut. With every sad smile and gentle condolence, she wants to slam her fist into something and scream that everyone is so full of shit, nobody knew Jet like they seem to believe they did, and he's going to be forgotten alongside the hundreds of Killjoys dying in cells or in the dirt with nobody to mourn them afterwards. More than anything, she wants to curls her fists into Jet's collar and scream at him for leaving them alone. He was never supposed to die, this was bullshit, and she wanted out. 

Broken had kept her grounded all day, her hand anchoring her to the present. As the end of the day drew near and the sunset cast shadows across the empty desert, Broken lead Revolver to a quiet corner of the party and squeezed her hand. It was a different squeeze than normal, involving more of her fingers than her palm, and inviting squeeze to find someplace private. They had been dancing, slow movements with each other as Broken kept her head in the crook of Revolver's neck throughout the evening. 

Revolver nods and leads Broken down the hallway, away from the watchful eyes of the adult Killjoys surrounding them. The only one who sees them is Kobra, and he looks on with blank acceptance while providing Revolver a small smile. 

Broken locks the door to the room Revolver and Ghoul share before turning on Revolver. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to." She says slowly. "Just tell me, and I'll stop." She makes slow, careful steps towards Revolver like one mistake could send her to pieces. 

"I want to." Revolver breathes. "Please. I just...I want to." 

Broken brings one hand to rest on Revolver's hip, another cupping her cheek. "You're so beautiful," She murmurs. "Too beautiful. This dusty world shouldn't be able to handle a treasure like you, Revolver."

"Charlie," Revolver's captivated by Broken's eyes, which are dark in a way she's never witnessed before. "My name is Charlie." 

"Charlie," The name rolls off Broken's tongue like it was meant to be placed there, sugar after a bitter drink. "Beautiful, beautiful Charlie." Her hands move to rest at her shoulders, sliding down her back and stopping at the zipper of her dress. Broken's lips ghost themselves across Revolver's collarbone, sending goosebumps across her flesh. She unzips her dress in one slow, liquid movement and it pools at her feet. 

Revolver doesn't feel as exposed as she figured she would be. In fact, as Broken steps back and sweeps her body with her eyes, she feels a strange sense of pride blossom in her chest. Broken's watching her as if she's the only thing she's ever witnessed, the only beautiful thing she's ever seen. Her eyes come to rest on the bubbled scar at Revolver's shoulder, and her fingertips trace careful patterns across it. 

"Beautiful," She repeats. "Simply amazing." Revolver can't seem to get her vocal chords to work in order to respond, and Broken slides her hands down Revolver's sides before kneeling and unrolling her tights. Her breath is hot against Revolver's skin, and Revolver feels a strange heat grow in her stomach as she kicks the tights off and Broken rakes her nails up Revolver's thighs. 

Broken leans up to kiss Revolver, and it's gentle at first. Revolver gives a small whine, kissing harder and pushing Broken's vest over her shoulders. Broken laughs slightly against Revolver's mouth, which quickly turns to a sigh as Revolver slides her hands up Broken's shirt. She pulls away enough for Revolver to tug her shirt off, then returns her mouth to Revolver's jawline, sucking and kissing and nipping tenderly. Revolver gasps slightly, the unfamiliar feeling welcome, and she becomes very conscious of the heat spreading between her legs.

Broken pulls her down, not bringing her mouth away, to the worn rug on the floor and positions Revolver on her back. "Don't worry about me, sweetheart." She purrs in Revolver's ear, and one hand slides between Revolver's legs. Revolver arches slightly, a small mewling sound escaping her mouth. "This is about you. It's not going to hurt, I promise. You're gorgeous, darlin'." She teases her nails against Revolver's inner thighs and detaches from her neck. "That hickey is going to be a bitch to cover up." 

Revolver can't do anything but groan, and Broken takes full advantage. Once ensuring Revolver is completely naked, she kisses up her inner thighs painfully slow, until Revolver is crying out in want and need. 

"Quiet, Charlie, ssh." She mumbles, her teeth scraping marks on Revolver's skin. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear us, now would we?" Revolver whines, biting down hard on her lower lip. "A lot of people tell me I'm good with my tongue, sweetheart. You want to test that theory?" 

Revolver doesn't have time to respond, because her head lolls back and her eyelids flutter shut as Broken presses her mouth to places Revolver has never shown anyone, in a way Revolver would blush if somebody mentioned. Revolver's at mercy to Broken, her hips cascading up and down desperately as Broken sucks and moves and tongues and makes Revolver feel good in every single way. 

"Br-Broken, I-" Revolver stammers, and Broken moves her mouth to suck at the most tender part of Revolver, one finger sliding into her with ease. "Oh, f-fuck, I'm-" Broken curls it and adds another, and there's a bit of a painful stretch, but it's overwhelmed with heat and pleasure, and Revolver barely notices. 

"Broken, I'm g-going t-to-" She cuts off with a high-pitched gasp as an explosion fires off in her belly, her back arching and hips pressing against Broken's mouth. Her entire body feels as though it's on fire, and she feels as though fireworks haves set off inside every inch of her body. 

When she can finally see straight, she lays eyes on Broken sitting across from her grinning, a blanket around her shoulders. She takes a few deep breaths and struggles onto her elbows, returning the grin shakily. 

"You really are beautiful," Broken says, leaning over and kissing Revolver softly. She lays down aside her and sets her head on her chest, body curling against Revolver. "I mean it." 

"Thank you." Revolver says, putting one arm across Broken's shoulders. "Thank you, thank you for...everything." 

"Goodnight, Charlie," Broken murmurs, lacing her fingers with Revolver's. 

"Goodnight." Revolver relaxes onto her back, eyes sliding shut. She suddenly feels exhausted, but strangely content. "Goodnight." 


	12. Car Radio

Revolver wakes up the next morning to an empty bedroom and a piece of paper under her hand. She eyes Ghoul's empty cot curiously and feels a bit of panic erupt in her chest. Fuck, she hopes he didn't see her.

'Had to hit the road. Don't worry, I covered for us. You're lucky one of us remembered to lock the door, doofus.' It reads, and is signed by Broken with a heart then a scribbled 'hearts are gay' underneath.

Revolver smiles slightly to herself and sits up, letting the blanket she was under fall into her lap. She stretches, her back and hips sore, and yawns while listening for sounds are the Diner. There are none, and she assumes everyone must be asleep. She tries not to think about Poison, or Jet, or anybody and lets the silence fill her ears.

Standing up, she gasps slightly at the aching pain between her legs, and looks down. Her inner thighs are marked with little bruises and nicks, in the shape of Broken's fingers. Revolver stares at them and shakes her head, moving to get dressed. She pulls on her usual black shirt with the skull pattern cut out of the back, then shorts before pausing as she sees her reflection in the dirty mirror.

Her hair is an absolute mess-she guesses that's what they mean by sex hair-and her neck is certainly going to be a problem. Right side, bright and purple, is a hickey the size of Revolver's thumb.

"Fuck," She mumbles, forcing her fingers through her bangs. "How do I cover that up?" She sucks on her lower lip before sighing and pulling on her vest, pulling her collar up as high as it will go. It's not enough, but it's something.

She quietly opens her door and sneaks down the hall into the bathroom, turning on the decrepit tap and shutting the door. She momentarily pauses to pray that nobody comes in before eyeing the water with distaste. She gets enough dusty water in her hand to splash it somewhat on her face, and she uses the rag behind her to wipe it down. She debates a shower, but doesn't want to waste the water and risk one of the boys waking up.

Padding down the hall, she grabs her belt from her room and clicks the buckle into place low on her waist. Her gun feels heavy for some reason, and she doesn't want to touch it. She finds the kitchen empty and dunks her head under the tap momentarily, to clear her head and fix her hair. She shakes it out and uses a dish rag to towel some of it, trying to rid her head of its dull cloudiness.

"You're up early." A voice startles her and she jolts, her gun loosening from its holster and hitting the ground.

Ghoul leans in the doorway, eyes tired and clothes rumpled. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." His voice is hoarse. "Where did you go last night, after you and Poison..." He trails off. "He's sorry." 

Revolver had almost forgotten about Poison's stinging words in the haze of Broken. "He can tell me himself." Her voice is harder than she expected it to be, and the surprise is evident on Ghoul's face.

"S'alright," He sits down at the counter and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. "He's a bit of a mess. He'll clean up though. He always does." 

"Mhm." Revolver leans down to collect her gun. "Sure. If he stops being a selfish dick first." 

"Hey," Ghoul's voice is sharp. "Don't talk about him like that." Revolver looks up to see his gaze firm on her own. "He's just...it's rough on him, okay?" 

"Like it's not rough on me too?" She holsters her gun, the weight feeling oddly alien in her palm. "Or you, or Mikey or-or, fuckin' Jet? He's dead, Ghoul." She snaps. "Think that's rough enough?" 

Ghoul sits back, his gaze dropping. He looks defeated, and Revolver feels guilt ache in her chest. She walks past him, head down, and out the door into the warm morning sun. 

\---

Revolver knows it's incredibly stupid to go out alone after Better Living has successfully killed on of the major leaders of the uprising she was a supposed soldier for, but she doesn't care. She certainly doesn't want to be at the Diner, with three guys who feel like strangers, and she doesn't want to be out in the sand where Jet burned. She's still sore, an ache throbbing from her back to her knees, and her chest feels heavy with guilt and anger. 

She starts walking, her back to the Diner and her face blank. She walks and walks and walks until the sun is higher in the sky and her mouth is dry with thirst. She looks around at the empty desert and clenches her fist, anger bubbling in her chest until-

 _"Fuck!"_ She screams, her face titled up to the sky.  _"Fuck you!"_ Her boot collides with the dirt, and a small voice in the back of her head is warning her to shut up, she's attracting too much attention, but her entire body is shaking with...with something she can't place. Her hands are tight, her heart feels like it's in her throat, and she keeps screaming until her voice is hoarse and she drops to her knees. 

"Fuck." She whispers, dropping back and covering her face with her hands. "God damn it." 

In all of her screaming, she hadn't heard the car pull up alongside the road. 

"Are you done?" A familiar voice drawls. She looks up, startled, to see a red-haired boy leaning against a beat up car. She panics, momentarily thinking it Poison, before recognizing it as Bones. He's grinning at her crookedly, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. "Jesus, girlie, thought you were gonna bust a lung. You sure can scream." He winks. 

"Shut it, Bones." She says without much effort, standing up and brushing off her pants. "What do you want?" 

"Was driving the boyfriend to see you, but alas, here you are." He takes a drag and jabs a thumb at the skinny boy in the passenger seat. Revolver sees one of her best friends, Bug, waving at her. "Get in, angel." 

Revolver slides into the back seat and mumbles a hello to Bug, leaning her head back against the worn leather. Bones gets into the drivers seat and flicks ash out the window, eyeing Revolver through the mirror. "What was with the screaming, huh?" 

"Nothing." Revolver mumbles, crossing her arms low on her stomach. "What're you doing out here?"

"Already said that. Man, you really don't listen, do you?" He flashes her his crooked grin and takes off. Bones is equally infuriating as he is irresistible-his haphazard demeanor and flashy clothes make him the centerpiece of every party. His bright red hair never goes without dye, no matter the cost of it. His trademark grin comes easy with bright, excited eyes and a slender body. He wasn't scrawny like Bug, but toned and slightly tanned. He never went without makeup or his rings.

He was also a prostitute, but Revolver doesn't like to judge people. He was known for having one of the best mouths in the Zones, and he was an all-around cool guy to hang out with. Everything was a joke to him.

He and Bug were a couple that shouldn't work at all. Bug was quiet and cautious, opposite of Bones's loud, obnoxious personality. Revolver had known Bug for years, after he showed up in the Zones as a skinny 16-year-old in a white uniform in 2014. Bug hated to talk about where he came from, and generally avoided the subject at all costs. The dog tags that hang around his neck glint in the sunlight as he turns around to look at Revolver. His brilliant grey eyes search her own.

"What's that?" He points to her neck.

Revolver adjusts her collar and shoots him a look. "Nothing."

He raises an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like nothing." Bones's eyes flit to the mirror and he grins with all of his teeth.

"Motherfucker!" He slaps the steering wheel and whoops loudly. "You got laid! Hah, about time!"

Bug's jaw drops. "No way."

"It's a...a hickey, sorta thing. Doesn't mean I got laid." She says crossly, pulling at her collar again.

"I can tell, kiddo. You totally did. Jesus Christ, finally, I thought I was gonna have to do it myself!" Bones pumps the air with his fist. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"Or girl." Bug cuts in, glaring at Bones.

"No one you know." Revolver makes a face. "Now shut up. You're so embarrassing, Bones."

"Shit. Shit, was she good? Oh man, this is awesome!" Bones whoops again. Bug rolls his eyes and squints at Revolver. "Dude, who was it? Hook me up. My life is so boring."

"You're gonna want to cover that." Bug unties the kerchief from around his throat and hands it to her. "'Cause I'm assuming you don't want Poison to know."

Revolver knots the black cloth around her neck and scowls. "We're not on speaking terms, but yeah."

"Who was it?" Bones presses. "I'm not gonna leave you alone until you say who it was."

"Her name's Broken." Revolver grumbles. "Happy?"

Bug and Bones share a look-disbelief from Bug, feral grin from Bones-and Revolver squints. "What's with the look?"

"There's no look." Bug says quickly. "Why'd you say there's a look?"

"We know her." Bones says, his teeth glinting. "That's all. On a very carnal basis."

"Bones!" Bug goes red and collapses back into his seat. "I hate you."

Revolver raises an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Ask her about us." Bones can't contain his grin. "She's got stories, man. Stories. We used to party hard."

"Bug doesn't party." She points at the blonde Killjoy. "He fucks around on computers."

"I don't fuck around on computers!" He protests, but Bones isn't listening.

"He does too. Bug is a party animal, aren't you, baby?" He grins at Bug, who scowls. "You're so pretty." Revolver makes a gagging sound and Bug's cheeks flush.

"Where are you taking me anyways?" Revolver says after a few minutes of silence. "Kidnapping is illegal, you know."

"Dunno. I've just been driving," Bones says. "Waiting for you to open up and spill your secrets to your two best friends."

"Technically, Bug was my best friend first. You showed up later when you sucked his dick at the Mad Gear show." Revolver tugs on Bones's ear.

"Hands off the merchandise, motorbaby."

"I'm merely your best friend because your social skills are terrible and Poison actually likes me." Bug hooks the strap of his laptop bag over his shoulder and looks out the window. "Pull over here." Bones does as he's told and Bug gets out, leaning his elbows in the frame of the window.

"Revolver's going to help me reroute some IPs, okay?" Bug says. Revolver slides out of the car and Bones nods.

"I got a shift until midnight. I'll see you later, baby." He kisses Bug and Revolver sees his tongue slip in between his lips.

"Public displays of homosexual affection. Careful, I might burst into flames." She says, and Bug pulls away as his cheeks go red once again.

"Later, kids." Bones flips her off and drives away.

\---

Bug's house is small. Actually, it probably normally sized, but he's got so much shit piled around it's hard to tell.

Bug is peculiar in every way. His appearance especially. He's skinny and bony, and his eyes are a stormy shade of grey. His hair is bleached white-blonde to match the pallor of his skin and eyes. He doesn't dress like a normal Killjoy-he prefers skinny black pants and a collared grey flannel open over a black t-shirt. The only jewelry he wears are the dog tags around his neck and a single ring in his left ear.

He locks the door behind them and drops his bag next to a pile of wires, jumping over the edge of his couch to land smartly on his butt. "Ow, fuck."

"Graceful, Bugsy." Revolver slides over the edge and is careful to avoid stepping on the countless wires and pieces of software. "You need to clean this fucking place. Or like, organize it. You know, I could get Jet t-" She cuts off and blinks. "Never mind."

Bug looks pained, but he doesn't say anything and pulls his laptop from the locked compartment below the couch. "So," He says, booting it up. "Broken."

"Yeah." Revolver runs her fingers through her hair. "Broken." Her heart speeds up a little bit when she says her name. "It's kind of...confusing. I really...really like her, though." She gets up and walks over to his desk, picking up a pile of files and sorting though them. "You and Bones seem tight."

"Don't change the subject." He says, not looking away from his screen. "Why were you screaming in the middle of Zone Five? And alone, none the less?"

"Why's it matter?" She opens one file and flips through the pages. "I'm here now."

"You were being an idiot." He types something in, and his eyes flit to meet hers. "I heard you and Poison last night. What's going on with you?"

She scowls at the written codes in her hands. "Nothing is fucking going on."

He raises an eyebrow. "That's convincing."

"Goddamn it, Bug!" She slams the files down. "It's none of your business!"

He looks taken aback. "I was just-"

"I don't need your help, and I don't need Poison's. I'm fine, okay?" Her voice cracks slightly and she curls fists against her sides. "Just...I don't know. I don't know, okay? Fuck."

"Okay." Bug looks unconvinced. "Well, you can't keep it in forever. I am your best friend, after all."

She groans and sits down next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Dork. Stop with the sappy stuff, I'm gonna puke."

He laughs. "Seriously, 'Volver. You and I both know you just hold this shit in and then you snap, and it's a mess. It's, like, not healthy. It'll drive you crazy."

"This whole desert drives me crazy." She grumbles. "I hate it."

"So do I, but it's kind of our only option. Unless you wanna be a mindless rat in the City which, trust me, you don't." He starts up his rapid typing again.

"I want to be normal." She says miserably.

"What do you know about normal? What even is normal, honestly?" He continues typing, eyes trained on the screen.

"I don't know. I'm just sick of...of being treated like...like a hired gun. I've killed more people than I ever want to think about, and I used to think it was for something but...but it isn't. Because Jet got fucking killed anyways." Her voice is bitter. "And Poison hates me and Kobra can't stop crying and Ghoul doesn't fucking talk."

"Poison doesn't hate you." Bug rolls his eyes. "You're his baby. He loves you. He's allowed to break every once in a while, Revolver. It's not fair to expect him to be a leader all the time, you know that."

She scowls at him. "Fuck your logic."

"I'm playing the genius card."

She rolls his eyes. "Why you gotta be so goddamned diplomatic all the time?"

He flashes her a rare grin. "Practice. Now get me that file."


	13. The Mighty Fall

Any chance for reconvening discussion between Poison and Revolver would be put on hold in the coming three weeks, as draculoids poured in and left no room for healing. 

As word of the fallen Fabulous Killjoy spread the Zones, it entered the City with burning force and eventually ended up on the desk of Korse, in an organized folder with a clean label signifying the name 'JET STAR'. Later, when Revolver happens upon the same file, she'll wonder how an entire life can be reduced into a folder to be placed in a file cabinet. Is that all they were to them? Files to be stored away?

But presently, Revolver was focused on something else. Once most of the sorrow had passed regarding Jet's death-not that she had forgotten. Revolver didn't think she'd ever forget that.-more responsibility fell on her. She became Kobra's partner, which instilled an odd dynamic. 

At home, she would find Kobra watching her when he thought she wasn't looking. Not that he hadn't always done that, but this time it was different. His eyes held caution, a guarded wall of cement behind hazel, and his hands never seemed to stop shaking. He rarely smiled, and his temper had ignited as the weeks wore on.

Every day was the same. Revolver would get up, shrug into whatever bits of her uniform she had discarded the night before, holster her gun and make her way down the hall. She usually had to get Kobra's gun as well, because he would purposely forget it in an excuse to use his hands on every draculoid they saw. Numbers had nearly tripled, and the outcry for help never seemed to end. Killjoys were dropping like flies, and Battery City numbers were growing exponentially. 

When Revolver would reach the kitchen, she'd usually find Kobra waiting by the door. He rarely ate anymore, save for the occasional half a can split with Revolver on overnight runs. None of them really ate much anyways, but the Four had always ensured Revolver was fed, even if it meant they didn't eat for a day or two. But with the influx of draculoids, food was scarce. For the first time in a while, draculoids weren't the only ones to blame for the decreasing Killjoy numbers. People were starving, sick and tired of living in a desert that never seemed to give anything back. Revolver had even heard of people turning in their guns for medicine in the City. 

Broken had even mentioned it, one night when Revolver had snuck out to see her. They had been sitting behind a bar, the only light being the moon and the heat of Broken's cigarette, when Broken brought it up. 

"You ever thought of giving up?" She said it so quickly, Revolver had to ask her to repeat herself before she got what she was saying. 

"Giving up?" Revolver's head was in her lap, and she was watching smoke slide out from her nostrils. "Like, on what?" 

"On this." Broken waved a hand. "All of this. All the dirt, and grime, and blood, and death. For-" She cut off and looked uneasy. 

"For what?" Revolver sat up on her elbows slightly. "For what, Broken?"

"For...Stability. The City. They have...resources there. They'd take care of us. What are they gonna do to a kid like you?"

"Kill me." Revolver said, deadpan. Broken looked at her doubtfully, and Revolver narrowed her eyes. "I'm not kidding." 

"The scouts have said they'd let anyone in without consequence." Broken said quietly, and Revolver sat up completely. 

"You've talked to them?" Broken nodded. "That's...Why? Why the fuck would you do that?" 

"Are you mad at me?" Broken frowned. 

"Kind of!" Revolver stopped herself and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. "It's just stupid. They could've killed you. They didn't...You didn't tell them anything, did you?" 

"No, I didn't." Broken glared at Revolver. "I'm not stupid. You've been weird since Jet died, you know that? You never used to get angry. Now you're either pissed off or fucking depressed." 

Revolver covered her face with her hands and sighed heavily. "I know. I'm sorry. You know--You know that being with me is, is dangerous right?" Revolver knew her voice sounded strained. Broken laid a hand on her forearm and lifted it to peek at her face. 

"I know the risks." Broken kissed her nose. "Dating the fifth-" She stopped and corrected herself. "Fourth most wanted 'Joy in the sand storm. I like to live in the wild side. Now, I'll stop talking about pills if you stop punching stuff. Deal?" 

"Deal." Revolver let herself be pulled into a kiss. 

Revolver hadn't quite forgotten about that conversation. She had decided to bring it up on a run, while Kobra was distracted. She had to talk to somebody. 

"Kobra, do you really think this is worth something?" They had just finished Zone Two, and were heading deep into Zone One. "I mean, all of this. The fight, the...everything." 

Kobra stops the bike and turns to look at her, pulling his bandana from his nose. Revolver notices the tension in his jaw and wishes she had never asked. "What?" 

"Never mind," She says quickly. "Forget I said anything." 

"No, Revolver, what did you say?" He presses. "Answer me." 

"I just said, do you think this is worth something?" She shrugs. "Whether the fight will ever be won." 

"Of course I do." He answers after a few seconds. "Would be kind of pointless to lead a whole revolution off a cliff, wouldn't it? Why do you ask?" 

She hesitates before answering. "Dunno. Stuff just wanders through my head sometimes. And with Jet gone, ya know, it's-" She immediately wishes she hadn't spoken. His jaw tightens and his eyes train forward. "Sorry." 

"No, it's okay." His voice is tight. "You're supposed to be talking about it." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" She raises an eyebrow and he sighs, sending fingers through his hair. 

"I haven't seen you cry since we burned him. None of us have," She starts to protest but he quiets her with a look. "And that's not healthy. You're the kid. You're supposed to cry and not leave your room, but instead you're being seven shades of grown up and it's worrying us." 

"I'm sixteen. Not four." 

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter." 

"Yes, it does." She says irritatedly. "You guys are a mess. I don't want to be like that." The words slide out before she can stop them. "You're distant, Ghoul's crying and Poison is drunk. He's-He's always _drunk_. And when he's drunk, he cries, but no one is ever awake except for me. Because I don't sleep anymore." She knows she should just shut up, that she's practically digging her own grave, but she can't prevent herself from talking. "I haven't slept in days. Every time I come close, I see his head being blown--being _blown open_." 

"Revolver," Kobra says. "I get it, I--"

"No, no you don't." She shakes her head. "You don't get it at all."

"What don't I get?" He narrows his eyes at her, sounding slightly put-off. "Explain to me, Revolver. What don't I get?"

"He was your best friend," Her voice is empty. "But he was my hero. He died, and it just proved that one day I'm going to lose all of you. And I'm going to be alone."

Kobra pauses, before speaking softly. "Oh, Revolver."

"Stop." She says quietly. "I don't need your pity." She slides off the bike and slings her pack over her shoulder. 

"Hey, where are you going?" He wraps his fingers around her wrist and holds tight. "Revolver, stop." When she started to pull away, he tightened his grip. "Charlie!" 

"Do  _not_ call me that!" She shouts, wrenching away and dropping heavily to the desert floor. She brings her knees to her chest and covers her head with her dirty arms. "Don't call me that," She repeats in a quiet voice. "I'm not Charlie anymore." 

Kobra sighs, running one hand down his face. This wasn't really the moment to have a heart-to-heart, but it was partially his fault, no matter how hot it was. He sat down, positioned so their toes on their boots are touching. "Who said you weren't Charlie anymore?" 

"Charlie was nine," Revolver sounds immensely bitter, and her eyes look up at Kobra. They're startlingly hard. "Charlie had to become Revolver when she was ten so she didn't fucking die every time she stepped outside to get a drink of water. Charlie had to become Revolver when you almost lost your head in the fight in Six, and Revolver had to drag you back home. Charlie couldn't of did that." Her voice spikes, and she looks away. "Charlie is too scared. I'm not Charlie. I'm Revolver. I can't...I can't be Charlie. Charlie wouldn't make it out here." She stands up and brushes off her pants. 

"Come on," She says after a few moments. "It's going to get dark. We're-Kobra, look out!" 

Revolver dives on top of Kobra a mere two seconds before an explosion topples the bike and presses him against the ground. Dust and fire make the air unbearable, and it takes Revolver a few moments to regain any senses. Kobra is talking to her, yelling frantically, but she can't hear him. All she can hear is a distant buzzing. 

"-olver! Revolver, get up, come on!" He shouts, tearing his gun from the holster at his hip. Revolver squints through the clearing dust and smoke to see a carful of dracs unloading, with a scary sight following behind.

Korse. 

His jacket is torn, and he looks pissed as hell. Revolver doesn't spend time assessing anything--she just draws her gun and fires blindly. There are no drops to assert any kills, let alone slowing anyone down. Another explosion sends her eyes flying shut as rubble strikes her cheeks and glass splits her lip. Spitting blood, she props her elbows on the frame of the motorbike, firing at the nearing draculoids with as much aim as possible. 

Suddenly, there's four fingers curled in the collar of her vest, and she's being yanked backwards. She chokes as her head smacks the ground and starts to ache. Before she can move, Kobra presses his hand over her mouth and rolls on top of her. He covers his head with his arms, ignoring Revolver's obvious struggles underneath him as he shields her from the flying dust and fire. 

"Killjoys!" Korse's rough voice breaks through the cracking of lasers and scattering debris. "Any fight would be futile! Surrender quickly, and this should be easy!" 

"God, he always talks like it's 1875." Kobra murmurs in Revolver's ear, earning a quiet giggle. "Stay very quiet." It's then that Revolver realizes the toppled bike is providing a slight barrier, the rest of which is covered by Kobra's body atop hers. "We're going to get out of here." His hand snakes down to his belt to press the distress call button, which is his first mistake. 

When the distress call sends, a loud batch of feedback shrieks from his monitor. This draws the draculoids to their position, and Kobra is yanked off of Revolver with an angry yell. Revolver kicks out blindly, but the hands that clamp around her wrists are stronger than she is. She's forced to her knees and her head is bowed forward by a gun at her neck. Through her limited vision, she watches Kobra receive a blow to the knees and ribs, causing him to topple forward onto his hands and knees before two draculoids wrench him to his feet. Blood is dripping down his chin.

"Let him go." Revolver struggles at the hands on her wrists, but the tight grip is burning her skin to a point where she's gritting her teeth. "Let the fuck go of him!" 

Korse steps into the clearing dust, his cold grin stopping at his cheekbones. "Charlotte. It's been a while," He turns to Kobra with faux enthusiasm, spreading his arms wide. "And Michael! Have you lost weight? You look well, my boy." Revolver watches, confused, as Korse indicates to the draculoids to let go of Kobra. When Kobra falls to his knees and tightens a hand over his ribs, Korse levels a gun at his forehead. Kobra's eyes flicker to Revolver's, and Revolver's stomach drops. 

"It's become too easy," Korse laughs, pressing the gun to Kobra's forehead. He twists it, and Revolver feels frozen. "Too easy to find you Killjoys. We've had some help, of course. You'd be surprised what the promise of happiness and immortality would get you." He laughs again. vacant and cold. "It's been seven years waiting, Michael. Pity your work has gone to waste." 

"Don't do this," Kobra forces out between clenched teeth. His hands are tight at his sides. "Don't make her watch."

"What, the girl?" Korse spares a look over his shoulder at the bloody-lipped and defiant Revolver. "Don't worry. She'll get over it soon enough. How's that girlfriend of yours, Charlie?" 

Revolver holds her most menacing stare she can muster and says nothing. "You're not very talkative today." Korse frowns mockingly and increases the pressure on Kobra's forehead. "Unusual." 

Revolver remains silent and scours her brain for outs. The grip of hands around her wrists is too tight for her to move, and too much force would likely dislocate her shoulder. Kobra has no way of moving without dying. Every instance ends with brains on the ground and blood on Korse's boots. Revolver looks at Kobra helplessly. His eyes are filled with tears, but his expression stony and solid on Korse's. 

"Pity the other two aren't here to watch," Korse continues, examining his nails. "I hoped they would be. Does it make you sad, Michael, that your most precious prize isn't worth saving?" 

"What are you saying?" Kobra says carefully. 

"I mean the girl, you stupid boy." 

"What about the girl?" Kobra remains cool and collected. "She has a name." 

"She's no more of a hero than you are," Korse practically spits. "And she's a rat." Kobra doesn't respond, but his glare alone drips enough venom to kill a crowd of draculoids. "And she's going to die, just like you. Like pigs at the slaughter." 

"We're not the pigs," Revolver says forcefully from her position on her knees. "You are." 

Two shots fire past Revolver's ear, and she wants to throw up.  _This is it,_ she thinks.  _I'm going to die._ But when the draculoid behind Kobra drops with two scorch marks in it's chest, she snaps her head around to see Rev standing with his gun smoking. Behind him is Suicide, their entire crew, and countless others. 

"This ends now," Rev tries to sound confident, but Revolver can detect the anxiety in his voice. "Let her go." 

"Mr. Stump." Korse grins sickeningly, and Revolver wants to knock his teeth in. "I'm afraid we can't do that." 

"Cut the shit, Korse!" Suicide shouts, drawing his gun. Revolver goes to yell at him to stop, but it's too late. A laser rips through his shoulder and he drops, screaming in agony. The firing begins, and Killjoys spread across the desert area, a blur of color and noise. 

Revolver tries to wrench away from the draculoid holding her back, but it's to no avail. He's too strong, and her scarred shoulder is still weak and aching. 

 _"Hey, fucktoid!"_ The scathing voice rises over the shouts and lasers. "That's  _mine_." A barrage of green lasers hit her captor, and Revolver flies to her feet, only to be knocked over by Ghoul. 

"You idiot," He's straddling her, both of his hands framing her face as he repeatedly presses kisses all over her dirty cheeks. "I thought they were going to kill you. God, I thought they were going to  _kill you_. Don't do that again, stupid, don't you dare." 

"Ghoul, Ghoul!" Revolver laughs, despite the chaos. "They're going to kill us if you don't get off of me! We can hug it out later!" He grins crookedly at her before yanking his mask over his chin and helping her up. 

"Get in the car," He yells from behind his mask. "We got it from here." He races off, his stride long and strong. Ghoul was kind of a whirlwind, and fighting him couldn't be very easy. He fought like he was eternally pissed off. 

Korse had been occupied by an onslaught of Decaydance fighters, and Kobra had taken up a group of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/S, leaving Revolver to dodge lasers and weave over to where Suicide was lying on the ground. His mask had been knocked askew, so Revolver removes it completely and unties her own bandana from around her neck. 

"Hey, hey, stop moving," She says, pressing it to his leaking shoulder. Now that she has a closer look, she sees the closeness in aspect to his chest. In fact, the wound rested at his shoulder joint. He's obviously in pain, his bottom lip bleeding from it's position behind his teeth. "I'm going to fix this. Stop moving." She works his arm elevated, then ties the cloth around the seeping wound. "Hey, Pete, look at me." His eyes flicker to meet her own. "You're gonna be fine. Just a scrape. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?" His eyes widen suddenly, and she pauses. 

"Wh- _No!"_ Two hands grab her arms and yank her away. She kicks behind her, feeling her boot collide with a kneecap before trying to scamper away. She collides with a suited chest, and only has mere moments to catch his face before a black hood slides over her head. Panic threatens to swallow her, and she lashes out. When cool metal cuffs encircle her wrists and a strap grips her ankle, Revolver starts to scream.

 _"No!"_ Her throat feels like it's tearing open.  _"Don't let them take me!"_

"Revolver!" 

"Oh,  _God_ , they have her!" 

"Get them! Fuck, someone get them!" 

"Revolver!" 

_"Revolver!"_

_"No!"_ It's Poison's scream that flies around the rest.  _"Let go of her, you bastards! I'll k-Fuck!"_ A distant shot is heard and his voice cuts off. 

"Poison?" Revolver is desperately trying to get away, but the ground is gone and the world is dark. "Poison,  _Poison!_ What did you do to him, what did you  _do_?"  _  
_

"Shut up," A gruff voice is at her ear and she's thrown down onto a hard metal floor. "They can't save you. Quit your screaming, or I kill the rest."

 _No,_ She thinks.  _No no no no no. He's not dead. Not Poison. No, they couldn't have--_ She feels hot tears streak her cheeks and the ground begins to vibrate beneath her. She assumes she's in some sort of a car, or van. "Let me go." She says forcefully. "Let me  _fucking_ go!" Silence responds. "Do you hear me? Let. Me.  _Go!"_ Her voice pitches into a scream. 

"Shut her up." The rough voice returns and she's delivered a sharp blow at the temple. Her head smacks into the metal and she loses consciousness. 


	14. In The Shallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title by daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while and I'm in college now. have some extra time, and old habits die hard. its been nearly a year since I've updated, and I figure I can incorporate that somehow.

Revolver doesn't know how long it's been. A year, maybe? A lifetime? Nothing changes. She hasn't seen the sun in what feels like an eternity. She only knows a few things: That her name is Charlie, that her name is also Revolver, and that her name is #329A as well. A lot of names might just drive a person crazy.

Only when she falls asleep or loses consciousness does food appear. It's the same thing every day: oatmeal in the morning, peas and turkey for lunch, and potatoes for her evening meal. Once an orange was accidentally delivered with her oatmeal, and she cried for twenty minutes out of sheer joy. She doesn't have a mirror, but she can see her hands and legs when she looks down, thin reminders of what she used to be. Her hair, once black and healthy, has been dyed with a harsh mixture of peroxide and bleach and is constantly shaved to her skull, leaving no more than enough for her to feel when she runs her palm over her scalp to check to wounds or lacerations. Sometimes, her fingers come back tinted with red from burns on her scalp, but she just wipes them on her jumpsuit and moves on. Her feet are always bare, having become accustomed to the harsh cold of her cell, and her hands shake when she tries to hold things. Eating takes a long time now.

Sometimes she sleeps for days. If it's after a particularly grueling session of electroshock, or if the doctor assigned her questioning session is feeling nasty, she won't wake up because her body gives out. Only then does BL/i intervene, sweeping her into one of their sterile hospital beds to be given fluids and steroids until she is well enough to be dumped into her cell and not die. Revolver has wished for death every evening before she sleeps, and begs for it over her lukewarm oats in the morning. She doesn't know why they keep her alive. She has never given them one scrap of information. She may be dying, but she still is resilient.

She's not sure if the information is necessary anymore.  They could be dead for all she knows. Everyone, Broken and Poison and Ghoul and Kobra. Nothing would matter if they were dead. She's sure that's the only reason her body hasn't completely given out on her; because they might still be alive. Sometimes she wished they were dead, in the darkest part of herself, so she could die too, and finally rest. 

She remembers the first weeks vividly. Hair still dark and unruly, eyes still awake, she would be dragged to doctor's tables screaming and kicking. She would spit, bite, and lash out at anyone who touched her. She would be returned beaten, her dark blood dripping and running over the white tiles of the floor beneath her. If she was lucky, she would be knocked out. If she was conscious, she would lie in agony on the cold floor in her own blood until she could move enough to eat or drink. Sometimes, they would give her a new jumpsuit. Other times, the suit would become so dirtied with blood, vomit, and piss that it would fall apart while she was wearing it. 

Revolver is wearing a new jumpsuit when they come for her. It's clean and pressed, making her feel almost human. The black lettering that spells out "MAXIMUM SECURITY" is garish compared to the white around her. 

"Good morning, Prisoner 329A." A cheery voice sounds as steps enter the room from the doorframe where the windowless door normally rests. "Lovely day, isn't it?" Revolver doesn't look up, only squints at the sharp-toed black heels that enter her line of sight. "I have your breakfast for you." When she doesn't look up, the heels shift slightly. "Prisoner 329A, I'm speaking to you." 

Revolver looks up to glare at the smiling woman blinking down at her. "I noticed." Her voice is gravely from being unused for so long. "I never get room service. Is your pretty face on the menu?"

To Revolver's surprise, the woman laughs. "They told me you had a mouth on you!" Her lipsticked lips stretch into an even wider smile. "How about you come with me, and we can enjoy your breakfast down the hall? I might even sneak you a bit of sugar." 

Revolver raises an eyebrow. "I normally don't enjoy rooms down the hall." 

"I promise, I'm only here to talk." The woman extends her hand, and Revolver watches her manicured nails glint in the light. Carefully, Revolver raises her aching body to her knees and struggles to her feet. The woman lets her hand drop and gestures toward the door. 

"No shackles?" Revolver squints at the doorway. "No Dracs? I must say, I feel a little underappreciated. I am maximum security." 

"I figured we wouldn't have any issues." The woman guides Revolver towards the door. "You are, after all, an adult now. You can make your own decisions." 

Revolver is out the door before the words register. "An adult?" She follows the woman down the hall, her bare feet padding on the tile floor. "What do you mean, an adult? Have I really--"

"Been here that long? You have." The woman opens a door and enters, setting the tray she had been holding on the table. "Please, take a seat. It isn't every day it's your eighteenth birthday!" She watches Revolver sit down and hands her a spoon. "Please, eat up. You need your strength. I tried to tell them to give you more, but they wouldn't budge." 

Revolver is suspicious but spoons oatmeal into her mouth anyways. It's warm, and even slightly sugared. It could kill her for all she cared, it was hot and was the best tasting thing she had eaten in, well--two years. She couldn't believe it had been two years. Part of her was angry, but most of her was in shock. She didn't have the mental capacity to think of anything different. 

"Where are my manners?" The woman exclaims suddenly, causing Revolver to jump, as she shuffles papers around on the desk across the room "My name is Lydia," She smiles at her. "And it is so wonderful to meet you." 

"I've been watching you for a while, Revolver," Lydia continues as Revolver returns to her oatmeal. Revolver raises an eyebrow at the use of her Killjoy name. "And I must say, you are the most resilient little fighter out there! Well," She chuckled. "Not so little anymore."

"Are they alive?" Revolver interjects suddenly, the questions bursting from her mouth. "I mean. Are they, Poison and...Just, are they dead?"

Lydia's smile tightens. "No. No, they are not, at much displeasure to my superiors as you could imagine." 

"But not to you?" Revolver sets her spoon down and leans back in her chair. 

Lydia takes a seat across from Revolver, files in her hands. "I don't take the time to hold personal grudges. I am, as you may imagine, a very busy woman." 

"That's not a yes." Revolver wipes her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. 

"It certainly is not a no either, dear." She opens the first file and withdraws a few photographs, spreading them across the table. "I felt as if these would interest you." Revolver leans forward and presses her lips together as she views the photos. It's the three remaining Fabulous Killjoys, grainy photographs as if they were taken from security footage. Still, Revolver can make out Poison's determined glare and Kobra's stride. The last photo is of the three of them, but only Poison is looking at the camera, as if he knew he was being watched. 

"What does-" Revolver clears her throat and shakes her head, running both hands down her face. "What do these have to do with anything? It's been two years. I don't think you guys are going to catch them with a few cheap shots off of a security camera." 

"Consider it leverage." Lydia's smile widens. "Resilient you may be, but no one can do this forever." 

"I'm not following." Revolver pushes the photos back across the table. 

"Two years. It's been two years, and we've gotten nothing from you." Lydia sweeps the photographs back into the file and shuts it with a manicured finger. "Some of my superiors don't believe it to be worth it, the resources we waste on keeping you alive." 

"And here I was, thinking you liked me. I'm hurt." 

"They plan of disposing of you on Sunday, in three days time." Lydia stands suddenly. "That is, of course, unless you can tell us something valuable." Revolver watches her stand and collect her files. "But if not, it'll be into the gas chamber you go." 

"That's medieval." Revolver said, feeling uneasy. "You're bluffing." 

Lydia laughs. "We've tried to make it easy for you, Revolver. We fed you, clothed you, kept you alive all of this time--"

"Barely," Revolver snorts. "You call hours of torture living? I hope you don't have kids, fuck." Lydia's smile drops. "Oh, sorry, touchy subject?" Revolver sneers, hooking one arm behind her head and leaning back. 

"I am trying to help you," Lydia says through her teeth. "Let me do that." 

"I don't need help, especially from someone who takes her happiness alongside her coffee every morning. Like you said, I've been at this two years." Her grin becomes wolfish. "I can make it three more days. Then I'll be free!" She spreads her arms wide, laughing. 

"I'm done with you." Lydia clutches her files to her chest. "Have a good day, Prisoner #329A, and I'll see you Sunday. And remember, the aftermath is--"

"Fuck off." Revolver sighs irritatedly and closes her eyes. "Enough already, Jesus." Lydia's exit is soundtracked by the brisk click of her heels and her curt, "I'm finished here", to someone outside the door. 

"Up, inmate." A gruff voice says as her shoulder is prodded with something hard. "Back to your cell." Revolver is yanked to her feet and handcuffs are slapped around her wrists as she's shoved out the door. She turns her face to look over her shoulder at the warden glaring at her. 

"You know, it's not nice to roughhouse." Revolver smiles, sickly sweet. "You're never going to get a girlfriend if you keep prodding people with things."

"Face forward, 329A." He roughly forces her head forward. 

"I've always wondered why I'm 329A. Where's 329B? Where's my counterpart?" Revolver says, turning her head again. "I mean, I think I deserve to know who the B is to my A, you know?" 

"Face forward." He grinds out forcefully, a vein pulsing in his forward. "I'm not going to ask you again." 

"No, but seriously," Revolver tilts her head back to regard him upside-down. "Can that be my last wish? Oh, what's my last meal going to be? I sure do hope I get one. You'll give a poor little girl like me some food, won't you Mister Warden Man?"

"That's it!" He releases her hands to grab his baton. "I've had enough of your  _bullshit!"_ He shoves her to the ground and lands a solid kick to her stomach before lashing out with his baton on her ribs. Revolver curls into herself the best she can as his baton lands again and again on her back, her ribs, anywhere he could get to. Giggling bursts of laughter were coming from her mouth, making the warden even angrier. 

"Why are you  _laughing?!_ " He screams, kicking her again, sending her sliding across the floor. He grabs a ball of her jumpsuit in his hand and lifts her off the ground. 

She's still laughing, blood running from the corner of her mouth. Her nose is clearly broken. "I have nothing left to lose," She says between hiccuped laughs. "You can't hurt me anymore. It doesn't matter. They're going-" She pauses as another bout of laughter overtakes her. "They're going to kill me!" He drops her and spits, returning his baton to his belt. 

"You're fucking insane," He shakes his head, chest heaving from the exertion of beating her. "Someone come get this rat off of my floor." 

Revolver is still laughing when they close her cell door.

 

 


	15. Knights of Cydonia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title by muse
> 
> warning for insinuations of sexual assault and descriptions of torture. no explicit word for word assault occurs, but it could be inferred if one pays enough attention.

"Revolver, wake up." Someone is shaking her shoulder. "C'mon, kid, open those eyes." The hands gripping her shoulder were strong and warm. Her eyelids flutter open to reveal Ghoul grinning lopsidedly down at her. 

"Thatagirl!" He exclaims. "I thought I was going to have to dump water on you." He pulls away and wanders over to her drawers, pulling a few open. "Come on, it's you and me today out on the red line. Can't wait around for you forever." 

Revolver sits up, pushing her hair from her face, long dark strands of it tucking behind her ear. "I had the weirdest dream." Ghoul hums and throws a pile of clothes at her. "It was bizarre. Maybe I ate something weird." 

"Probably the sunlight," He says lightly. "Gets to your head. Now, come on! We have shit to do!" Revolver laughs, the sound echoing around the room, while she hastily undresses. She's pleased to see her skin smooth and untouched, if not a little dirty. She dresses quickly, limber limbs sliding through the material, finishing by sliding her holster around her waist. Ghoul hands her the vest hanging on the peg by the door, and as she slides her arms into it and hunches it onto her shoulders, she notices something odd about Ghoul's boots. 

"Your boots are clean," She says slowly, looking down at her own matted laces. "How are they that clean?" 

"I cleaned 'em, that's how." He laughs as he cleans his gun. "People do that sometimes, even nasty desert rats like me." 

Revolver knows they don't have the resources for shoe polish or new laces. They were lucky to have enough water to drink and wash in once a week, let alone do minimal things like cleaning dishes or food. As she loads battery cartridges into her own laser, she keeps looking at his boots. "S'just weird, that's all. They're so shiny."

"I can have nice things, Revolver." He grins at her and nudges her with his shoulder. "Are you just going to stare at me all day, or are we going to go hunt some draculoids?" As he turns, she bumps square into his chest. He steadies her and smiles, one hand on each of her arms. "Sorry, little lady. I--" 

A deafening _zap_  sounds from between them and Ghoul's smile disappears. His mouth drops open and he lets go of her to clutch at his stomach. She looks down and feels her stomach run cold as she sees blood soaking his abdomen. 

"Frankie!" She says, panicked, as he drops to his knees. Blood begins to seep through his fingers, dripping onto the floor with a sickening rhythm. He looks up at her, pale, looking older than she's ever seen him. 

"Why did you do that?" He asks, voice strained. "We loved you. Why did you do that, Revolver?"  Something falls from her hand, something she hadn't realized she was holding. Her purple blaster, its silver tip splattered with blood, falls between her feet. 

She did it. She  _shot_ him. 

"No, no, no!" She rushes to him, pressing her hands over the wound. "No, it's okay, it's okay! I didn't, I mean, I didn't mean to. I didn't--Frankie, you have to believe me!" 

"Why did you do that?" Tears begin to drip from his eyes, his voice weaker with every syllable. "We loved you." 

"Stop, stop moving, it's okay, just--Fuck! Somebody help me!" She shouts desperately. The returned silence is as horrifying as the blood staining her sleeves. Ghoul has stopped responding, his head dropping to his chest. "Frank! Look at me, fuck,  _look at me!_ " 

His body suddenly disappears, leaving her arms empty and covered in his blood. Through the tears blurring her eyes, she notices her sleeves are white. In horror, she looks down to find herself in a white jumpsuit. Her sleeves are clean. She's on her feet. The gun is back in her hand, pristine white. There's a mask in her hand, heavy. 

It's a draculoid mask. 

* * *

 

Revolver jolts awake, a scream tearing itself from her throat. It doesn't get far, as she strains against the leather strap in her mouth. She lashes out, struggling against the leather binding her wrists and arms, trying to wrench herself from the chair she's strapped to. 

"Oh, calm down," A cool voice sounding from across the room makes her head snap up. His British accent is unmistakable, although foreign to Revolver's ears. "You're going to hurt yourself." He steps into the stream of light that's cascading down from the opening in the ceiling, his pristine white suit glistening slightly. "Are you quite finished?" 

She bares her teeth against the gag and lurches for him, causing the strap across her waist to dig into her ribs and stomach painfully. He watches her unamused under she falls back into the chair defeatedly. 

"Done now?" He adjusts his clean black gloves and strides across the room to stand in front of her, looking down at her coolly. "They told me you had energy, but this," He laughs, a calculated, cold sound. "This is just pathetic, love, really." Revolver can do no more than glare at him, gritting her teeth. 

"My name is Jack," He says, picking up a silver tool from the tray that is positioned beside Revolver. "And I'll be asking you a few questions today. I hope that's alright with you, although I know you don't have say in the matter. Don't want you to feel that this isn't-" His eyes flicker dangerously. "-consensual." She doesn't waver. "Right, well, let's remove this," He undoes the fasten by her chin and the strap falls away. "And we can be on our way." 

Revolver licks her chapped lips and says nothing, staring stoically at Jack's waiting face. He twirls the tool, a sinister looking blade, between his gloved fingers as he begins to pace in front of her. 

"Your name?" 

"Contemplation Revolver." She says dryly, watching him as he moves. 

"Age?" 

"Eighteen years old. Date of birth, December 29th, 2004." 

"Mm," Jack's pristine face turns up into a small smile. "Legal now, then?" Revolver doesn't respond. "I asked you a question, Revolver." 

Revolver hated the way her name sounded falling off of his tongue. "You could say that," She answers through a tight-jawed glare. "Next question?" 

"Identification number?" He turns abruptly to face her. 

"329A." Revolver bears her eyes into his, dark brown into frozen blue. 

"How long have you been in the protection of Better Living Industries, 329A?" He twirls the tool incessantly. 

"Two years," Revolver adjusts herself against the straps. "Or so." 

"And in that time, have you given or received any information on the whereabouts of the three remaining Fabulous Killjoys?" 

"Take a guess." She replies coyly. 

He's got the blade pressed to her throat in a flash. "That wasn't what I asked." He smiles sweetly at her, voice sing-song and high-pitched. 

She swallows, feeling the freezing blade bob against her throat. "No. I haven't." 

"And why is that?" He presses down, and she feels the blade break the skin as hot blood drips sporadically down her neck.

"Because they're my friends."

"Friends who haven't come to look for you?" He twists his wrist slightly, digging the blade deeper into the beginning layers of her skin. It's getting hard to swallow. "Even though they must know you're here, after all-" He laughs loudly. "Where else could you be?"

"They know--" Her mouth is dry. "They know that if they come, you'll kill them."

"And you're not worth that? Their most prized possession, and they let you be taken from them in an instant, using only a few zip ties and a bag over your head." He yanks the blade away, and Revolver gasps as her airway reopens. "Doesn't seem like they care much to me."

"I don't," She's breathing heavily, gasping for breath between words. "I don't understand what you're getting at." 

"Two years, and they let you spend the rest of your childhood in a cell. Some friends. Much older'n you, aren't they?" He drags a finger gingerly down her cheek and over her lips. "Like them older, do you?" 

She glares at him. "Try it once, fucker, and I'll bite your dick off." 

"I like them fiery. I love myself a good, sexy bit like you." He tilts her chin upwards towards him. "Desert angels like you just  _beg_ for it." She yanks her face away and spits at him, her saliva landing on his cheek. His smile drops, and he wipes it away with two fingers slowly. "That was a mistake, love. Open the communication!" He yells suddenly, turning towards the closed door. "Let's get this show on the road!" 

* * *

Every morning, when sunlight drifts through the window above his bed to illuminate the dust particles dancing above him, Poison likes to keep his eyes closed for a few moments after he's awaken. It's in these moments that he can almost hear Revolver's even breathing across the hall, or her feet padding down the hall sleepily toward the kitchen. It's in these moments that he's whole again and everything is okay. 

It doesn't last forever, because when he opens his eyes, the room is empty and she's still gone. His heart hollows again, and he forces himself to roll out of bed and to yank on his outfit mechanically. The final touch, after he straps his blaster to his thigh, is her purple kerchief around his neck. He ties the knot like it's the final thing holding him altogether. 

People talk a lot about how much he's changed. He can see the pity in their eyes when he passes them in the Zones, can feel them watching him walk to the pile of rocks that's been designated as the resting place for the body they don't have. Every night, he lays down a flower he's found that day growing out of the dead earth, then he walks away. His entire demeanour dares anyone watching to say anything to him. Nobody ever does. The Zones like to forget Revolver, even if her friends never did. She's just a reminder that they're never getting out of the desert anyways; they're all going to become a pile of rocks. 

Broken used to stop by every day in the first year, flanked by Rev and Suicide. Suicide walked with a bit of limp after his leg had nearly gotten taken off by a drac a few weeks before. She was always full of questions: Had they heard anything? Was there any word? Was there a plan, any plan? Soon, her visits became once every few days, then once a week, then they stopped altogether. Poison had seen her passed out at the bar of a Mad Gear & the Missile Kid show. All he had done was call Rev and walked away. He couldn't help but feel bitter; why was his girl gone, when this one got to fuck up her life trying to forget someone he couldn't? 

His friends tried to be supportive. Poison was so angry, and inconsolable, that many of them stopped trying. Mad Gear had been the one to tell Poison to build her a grave. "Let her soul rest, Poison," He had said, looking towards the setting sun. "You have to let her go." 

So Poison did. He built her a grave, and he let her go. Or, he tried to. He knew she was dead, she  _had_ to be. There was no way anybody could survive in a BL/i custody, let alone a sixteen-year-old. Hell, Revolver had still cried when she saw dogs. There was no way she had made it. 

But. Still something tugged at him, as if her fingers were deftly wrapped in his heart strings as she repeated,  _Don't forget me. Don't forget._  

His brother wasn't any help. Every time Poison looked at Kobra, he saw her. She was in his walk, the way he blinked blearily at a book over his coffee in the morning. She was in his eyes, and Poison hated it. He cursed every person that had ever said they were similar. 

As Poison walks into the kitchen, these thoughts swim in his head like a flurry of rain that he can't see through. He pours a cupful of dingy coffee, and sips at it to rid him of the bitter taste in his mouth. Ghoul walks in moments later, his eyes tired and hair rumpled against his forehead. It's growing in from the last time that he shaved it. Poison wants to brush it away with his fingertips, but he hasn't touched Ghoul in months.

"Hey," Ghoul says quietly, reaching for the pot. Poison shuffles out of the way and nods at him.

"Hey. How did you sleep?"

"It was her birthday yesterday," Ghoul says suddenly, eyes sticking to his cup. "She would've been eighteen. That's ten years, Poison." 

"Yeah," Poison says after a moment. "Yeah, ten years." 

"I wonder what she'd look like now," Ghoul sits at the counter, stirring his coffee with his finger. "She was always so tall." 

"Was impossible to find clothes for her." Poison swallows his mouthful of the bitter liquid and almost smiles, a ghost of it hinting at his lips. "Her ankles always stuck out of her pants." 

"Yeah," Ghoul says, impossibly quiet. The two drink their coffee in sullen silence before steps down the hall indicate Kobra is awake, and he's loping into the kitchen by the time Poison looks up from his cup. 

"Hi, Kobra." Poison offers him a miniscule smile. "Sleep well?" Kobra shrugs and pours himself a cup. Kobra, who was never much of a talker, has nearly stopped all together these days. Poison watches rage sit between his shoulder blades every day. He doesn't fight with a blaster anymore, preferring his fists over any laser. Ghoul thinks it helps him deal with Revolver, by landing every Drac's ass to him on a platter.

Doctor Death, having just finished his morning transmission, rolls into the kitchen shortly after Kobra. He's slowing down, grey roots growing into his hair, and wrinkles forming by his eyes, but he's still kicking. His voice is as deep and strong as ever.

"Call came in over the waves, boys," Doctor D says, rolling to a stop between the three of them. "Looks like some young 'joys are having a lil' trouble with the static at the outer edge of Zone Five. I said I'd send you their way." 

"Thanks, D," Poison sets his cup down and runs both gloved hands down his face. "We'll be on that. Let's go, guys."

"Young?" Ghoul asks, frowning. "How young are we talking?" Poison shoots him a look, but Ghoul ignores him and prattles on. "What else did they say?"

"Was pretty hard to get 'em saying more than their names. A boy'n a girl, Zap and Spark, I think they said. These ears ain't what they used to be."

"Ghoul, if we don't hurry it up, we might be collecting body parts instead of Killjoys," Poison says roughly. "Let's go."

As the Trans Am roars to life, Kobra only barely closes the passenger door when Poison takes off.

"Ow, fucker," Kobra rubs his head where he smacked it on the ceiling as Poison gunned the car into third gear.

"Sorry," Poison mutters, eyes trained on the road. His knuckles are white from gripping the wheel.

"Just focus, both of you," Kobra says firmly, wrapping his knuckles in tape and fitting his gloves over his long fingers. "If you get all emotional and too into it, and something bad happens, I'm not picking both of you off the ground. We're here to do a job, and that job is get a couple of snot-nosed Killjoys out of something they probably tripped into. Shoot, kill, and finish." He pauses. "She's not going to be there. Just, just know that." That was the most Kobra had said in a while, and the words dried on his tongue as quickly as they had appeared.   

Ghoul pulls his monster mask over his face, flicking his wrist and loading up his blaster. "Shoot, kill, and finish." He mutters under his breath. Poison pulls up to the building that matches the description D gave him, and shuts the car off. 

"No BL/i cars," He says, adjusting his own domino mask to his face. "And no noise."

"You sure this is the right place, Poison?" Kobra squints up at the decrepit building. "It looks abandoned." 

"Three story building on the outer edge of Zone Five with purple markings on the north-east wall," Ghoul reads, holding a note in his hand. "Yeah, this is it." 

All three Killjoys knew what silence meant: They were too late, and needed to go clean up the mess. Poison hates his job. 

"Let's go," He says gruffly, kicking open the door of the Trans Am. "Clear the building first." 

Ghoul and Kobra flank him as they walk towards the building, blasters charged and loaded. Their boots crunch the dirt and debris on the floor on the building. It appears to have been some sort of motel at one point, with it's high ceilings and eroding decorations. A broken chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, and Ghoul thinks he sees a skeleton hanging from one of the branches. He trains his eyes forward and trudges on. They make it up one flight of stairs, and enter a long hallway on the second floor.

"Rooms," Poison says quietly. "Check 'em all. We can't be too sure. If they're still in here, we want to find them before they find us."

Ghoul peels off, kicking doors in and aiming his blaster into the dark, waiting for something to jump at him. When nothing does, he moves on to the next room. Kobra is following his brother, fists clenched and jaw tight, as Poison shoulders doors open to find them empty. They've finished an entire floor before they hear it: slow, steady footsteps above them.

"Fuck," Poison breathes. "Let's go. Take no fuckers alive." They ascend the stairs in a line, and Poison bursts through the door at the top of the staircase with conviction, blaster gripped tightly in his hands. The room is empty. It's huge, dusty, and absolutely abandoned.

"I don't understand," Ghoul says slowly. "The footsteps, they were from up here. This doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe it was some sort of animal." Kobra replies, bending down to examine the floor. "There's no blood. Where are the kids? Poison?" Poison doesn't respond, only regards the empty room with disbelief. 

"My God, took you lot a while." Poison whips around, aiming his gun, but the room is still empty. "Over here, you knobs." A cold laugh echoes in the room. "You boys are thicker than leather. And they told me you were calculated, cold-blooded killers!" Kobra points, mouth dropped open, at the small radio sitting on a stool in the corner. 

"Yes, that's it! Good, mate, you've found me." The voice from the radio is level and clear.

"Poison," Ghoul breathes. "Poison, we've got to get out of here."

"I can hear you, Ghoul." The voice sings. 

"Who are you?" Poison steps towards the radio, letting his hands drop to his side. He returns his blaster to his holster, while Kobra and Ghoul watch him in disbelief. 

"My name is Jack, and I must say, I am the biggest fan of your work! Especially, well, the girl. Your best piece, I might add, besides the whole revolution stick you guys have going." 

"No," Ghoul says, heart rate quickening. "That's impossible." 

"Quite the contrary, mate! Now, if one of you could be a dear and switch the small white knob on the side of the radio-Yes, that's it, Poison, thank you-Ah!" A projected image sputters to life, projecting a feed onto the wall opposite the radio. "Now, isn't this better? We can talk face-to-face now. Much more cozy."

"The girl," Poison presses. "You said something about the girl." 

"Quite a spunky bugger, isn't she? Spit on my face nearly thirty seconds ago. So unhygienic." Jack smiles at the Killjoys, standing in the center of the projection. 

Poison feels like his heart has stopped. "She's alive." His voice is monotone. "Fuck, she's  _alive_." 

"Of course she is!" Jack laughs, static encroaching the sound. "What use would she be to us dead? I mean, she's not much use now. A waste of resources, I suppose." 

"She's been alive this whole time," Kobra says slowly. "And we've been here. Doing nothing." 

"I was just saying that! I must say, Kobra, you and I should have tea one of these days, mull things over." 

"How do we know you're not bluffing?" Ghoul says, fighting to keep his voice steady. 

"Take a look for yourselves," Jack steps out of the center of the stream, gesturing behind him. "Revolver, say hello!" 

"Oh, my God." Ghoul says hoarsely. There's someone strapped to a chair, a girl, with a shaved head that's been harshly bleached. She's impossibly skinny, bruised, and bloody. Her body seems to be swimming in the jumpsuit she's wearing. Her eyes are sunken into her face, and as she lifts her head, Poison can see her. She's hiding in the figures eyes, the same nearly-black pupils he's looked into a thousand times. She stares into what he assumes is the camera, face unmoving. 

"Revolver," Kobra is the first speak, his voice quiet. "You're alive." 

"You could say that." Revolver responds, her voice hollow and raspy. 

"Oh, this is so  _touching_!" Jack clasps his hands in front of his heart. "I could almost cry. Now, Revolver, be a good girl and tell them what's been told to you."

"No." She says simply, her lips barely moving as she says it. Jack's smile flickers. 

"Revolver, you can tell us." Poison can tell Kobra is fighting to keep his voice steady. "What is it?" 

"No." She repeats. 

Jack clicks his tongue and shifts suddenly, grabbing a fistful of the front of Revolver's uniform. "Want to run that by me again, love?" 

"I said, no." Revolver grits out, her feet kicking. 

"I can't watch this." Ghoul's breathing is heavy as he is unable to tear his eyes away from the flickering projection. Jack throws her onto her back, the chair clattering with the force of her body hitting the ground. Her head cracks against the tile with a resounding smack. 

"Revolver, do as he says." Poison speaks solemnly, his voice even and controlled. Jack's boot lands under her tail bone, then against her ribs. She groans and shakes her head. Jack's face is composed as he cracks the heel of his boot against her chest bone. She's struggling to breathe, her chest rising and falling brokenly. 

"Poison, we have to do something," Kobra mutters to his brother. "They're going to kill her." 

"Revolver, did you hear me?" Poison raises his voice slightly. "Do as Jack says." 

"No," Revolver sounds desperate. "I can't." 

"That's an order!" Poison shouts, steeling his quivering nerves. Ghoul stares at him in disbelief. Wood splinters as Jack kicks her again, a leg coming loose. Jack grabs it and brings it down across Revolver's face. 

"Tomorrow!" Revolver yells suddenly, her voice garbled through a mouthful of blood. "They're doing it tomorrow, and then there will be nothing. N-Nothing. Tomorrow, it's happening tomorrow!" Poison hears something break, and the scream that she releases is terrified and nearly inhuman. "Stop, stop it! I said, I did what you said, stop!" 

Jack is laughing now, and he tosses the wooden piece aside, reaching for his belt. "Good girl, Revolver! See how easy that was?" He turns to the camera, undoing his belt slowly with gloved fingers stained with Revolver's blood. "You heard the girl. She dies tomorrow. Do what you will with that information. It was a pleasure, gentleman. If you will excuse me, I have a present for our complacent prisoner. Don't worry, when they ask about it later, I'll be sure to tell them how she pleaded for it." He tosses his belt aside and bends on one knee to stroke Revolver's cheek with a single finger. "Isn't that right, love?" 

Revolver can barely whimper or turn her face away. Her chest appears caved in, and Poison can barely distinguish her face amongst the blood. The feed begins to fizz with static, interrupting the image with bursts of feedback, but not before they hear her cries and screams as Jack advances onto her. 

"Stop it!" Revolver screams, her voice tearing from her throat. "Get off of me! Poison, Poison,  _help me!_ " The feed cuts, leaving Poison staring at the wall. He feels nothing but anger. 

"We have to go," Ghoul stammers. "We, We have to get her! Now, we have to go  _now_ , we have to--" He turns suddenly on Poison, tears streaking his cheeks. "You did nothing. She's been there for two years, and you just, you fucking, you  _forgot!_ " Poison turns to stare at him, blinking slowly.

"He didn't forget. None of us did," Kobra puts a hand on Ghoul's chest. "He's not who you should be attacking right now, Ghoul." 

"You left her there. You told me, you told me to forget about it! Forget about her, while she's-God knows what they're doing to her, what they've done to her, what she's been through, and you told me to forget about her! 'Move on, Frankie,'" Ghoul mimics Poison's voice unkindly. "'It does us no good to keep her with us.' That's what you  _said_ , and she's been in a cell, rotting!" 

"You know we couldn't have run in there and just grabbed her, Ghoul. You need to calm down," Kobra says, face composed as he looks coolly at Ghoul. "And stop before you say something you regret." 

Ghoul's resolve crumbles, and his anger is replaced with soul-aching sadness. He begins to cry in earnest, fists uncurling and dropping to his side. "My _baby_ ," He sobs, chin dropping towards his chest. "I thought she was-" 

"We all did." Kobra says firmly, running a hand through his hair. "And now she isn't, so we need to get a plan together, and we need to do it fast. Something is happening tomorrow, and I'm guessing they aren't going to be repainting the City." He looks at Poison. "Now would be a good time for you to start talking, brother." 

Poison is surprised when he finds his voice steady and even. "Call the Zone leaders. We go in tonight."

 

 

 


	16. Do or Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title by 3OH!3 (do people even know them anymore? am i that old?) 
> 
> happy new years, may 2016 be kind and full of love for all of you

Revolver knows pain. She thinks vaguely of getting shot in the shoulder two years, a lifetime, ago. That hurt. Dropping out of a third floor window hurt. The numerous falls, hits, and burns she had received over eight years of living in a desert, two in captivity, were enough to dizzy any normal person. 

This was more than pain. This was an ache, an angry, bone-weighing ache that she felt throughout her entire body. When Jack was finished with her, he had righted his pants and smoothed his hair back in one fluid motion, turned on his heel, and left. Revolver had laid there, unthinking. At one point, she ended up back on the floor of her cell in a new jumpsuit. She could still feel him touching her, and she wanted to burn her skin off. 

Even now, as she tries to lift her head, it hurts. She's sure she's hungry, if she could notice pangs of hunger echoing in her stomach above the gnawing pain of the rest of her body, but they haven't given her any food. She figures it has to be the next day, and her time is running out. She's not sure if she cares, at this point. There was no way anybody could get to her, and to infiltrate the building was suicide. Revolver considers herself content to die, just as long as it's painless. 

She can hear footsteps outside of her door, and she closes her eyes. This is it. Someone is going to come in, pick her up, and take her away, and she wouldn't feel pain anymore. She feels defeated, and hates herself for it. 

"329A, let's go." She doesn't move. "I said, let's go. Get up." 

"They haven't fed her in three days, sir," Another voice says. "I'm not sure she can. Plus, you know...Jack, and all." 

The first voice snorts, and nudges her with his boot. "She needs to learn to take a little roughness. My Darlene always did. Should be glad she got a little something before she gets the chamber." 

There's a pause. "Didn't your wife leave you, sir?" 

"Shut up, Valdez! Just get her up and moving. We need to be in the execution cell in fifteen minutes." Execution. The word rang in Revolver's ears like a gunshot. Two hands press into her shoulders and slip under her armpits, hoisting her up. The touch terrifies her, and she wants to struggle away, but she can't get her body to respond. 

"329A, can you walk?" She opens her eyes to see a young man looking at her, his eyes betraying the slightest hint of sympathy. "I can get a stretcher, if you want."

"It isn't about what she wants, Valdez!" An older, gruffer guard squints at him. "God, you new breeds are always such pussies. Get her moving. I'm not losing my head to Korse because of your sudden need to be a  _girl_." 

Korse. That was a name Revolver hadn't heard in ages. She had only seen him once in her entire time at BL/i, and the memory was bloodstained and tinged in red. As she's hauled into the hallway, the tops of her feet dragged against the cold tiles, she focuses her eyes forward. She's trying to absorb everything, her last moments on Earth. The most she can understand is pain. 

It's easy to slip away, fall asleep under the crushing weight of the air around her. Her head is just beginning to nod against her chest when she feels leather straps secure her ankles and wrists. She lets her eyes slip closed and wait. 

"Let it be known that you, Prisoner 329A, formally know as Killjoy-vigilante Contemplation Revolver, will be dead on January 1st, 2023, in five minutes time." A masked guard says stiffly from the entrance of the chamber. "Charges are as follows: knowing disrespect and rebellion against Better Living, misconduct, aggravated violence, and murder. Do you accept these charges?" 

"Yes," Revolver says, the word slipping off of her tongue like butter. A part of her shrinks at the ease that settles over her as she says it. "I do." 

"Any last remarks?" He doesn't look in her direction, only to her right. 

"Happy New Year." She leans her head back to look at the ceiling, eyes closing. She's exhausted. The door seals shut, and she's left with only the sound of her own ragged breathing. 

_The pain is going to be gone,_ She thinks.  _And I'll be safe._ Tears are rolling down her bruised and bloody cheeks, but she can't feel them. 

A siren begins to wail.  _This is it._  She thinks as she braces, her heart rate picking up. When nothing happens, she opens her eyes, looking around. She can hear pounding footsteps in the hall. She's just about to close her eyes again when an explosion knocks her backwards.

* * *

 

Nobody believes Poison when he says it. Everyone just stares at him, unblinking. A few of them look angry. 

It's Doctor Death who speaks first. "You're telling me the girl ain't dead?" 

"That's impossible," Suicide says, looking at Poison like he's lost his mind. "It's been two years. Monster was dead after 23 hours, and you're telling me a girl half his size has made it two years?"

"I swear, I saw her.  _We_ saw her." Poison gestures to Kobra and Ghoul, who are standing behind him. Ghoul still looks nauseated. "It was a live video feed. They have her in Bat City, and every minute we spend sitting here is another minute closer to them killing her." 

"Poison, I think I-" Splatter clears his throat. "I think I speak for all of us when I say...We can't just run into the City, guns blazing." 

"Why not?" Poison challenges, glaring at Splatter. 

"Because that building is damn near impossible to infiltrate." Revolution speaks up from his position at the back of the group. "We aren't saying we should leave her there-" 

" _You_ aren't saying that," Splatter mumbles. 

Rev shoots a daggered look at him. "What we're saying is that we need time." 

"We don't have time," Kobra says tightly, arms crossed in front of his chest. "This is our last chance, our  _only_ chance, to get her back." 

"I'm with Splatter, guys." Velocity waves a hand, her expression pained. "I feel awful having to just, just leave her there, but we have to think of the group-"

"You don't think that if we sound an alarm that she's been found, that 'Joys across the Zones wouldn't run to the City themselves to get her back?" A quiet voice sounds from behind Rev. Broken Syndrome stands up and pushes her hair out of her face with one sweeping hand. "It isn't a matter of whether we do it, it's how we do it. Anybody who suggests otherwise is going to get a laser up their nose." She crosses her arms, expression pointed. "Poison, give us what you got." 

Poison, his face barely masking bewilderment, straightens his jacket. "We're guessing she's being held here-" He points to the map of the main BL/i building spread before him. "In the Max holding cells." 

"That means entrance to the front isn't an option," Mad Gear says, his arm sloped around Missile Kid's shoulders. "We can get through the back." 

Rev shakes his head. "Too many Dracs. It's crawling with them." 

"How fast can you have this wall-" Poison places a finger on the East wall of the building. "-in pieces, Ghoul?" 

Ghoul looks over his shoulder at the map, chewing a toothpick between his teeth. "Thirty seconds."

"Do it in fifteen and we're golden." Poison looks across the table at Suicide. "You still know that tech kid? Get him to take down the main security feeds. That should give us time to get in."

"Is this before or after Ghoul blows the place to hell?" Splatter throws up his hands. "Guys, this is insane." 

"Precisely." Poison grins suddenly, straightening up. "It should work perfectly, then." 

* * *

Bug is seated in the back of the Trans Am between Ghoul and Kobra,- _Snug as a bug!_ Bones had yelled _._ Bug hated him sometimes.-, a laptop perched on his lap. A chewed pencil is sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and his eyes are trained on the screen behind the glasses slipping down his nose. 

"You sure you can do this, Bug?" Suicide is cleaning his blaster in the front seat. eyes on the road. 

"Yeah, yeah," Bug says, fingers flying over the keys. "It shouldn't be too difficult-I mean, the firewalls are a bitch, but the proxy itself doesn't switch too fast, at least not fast enough to the point that I can't catch it-" 

"Yeah, anyways, you just keep working." Suicide replaces his blaster in his holster and rolls his shoulder, lightly touching the scar at his collarbone. He looks around the car at the Three Fabulous Killjoys, all of which are looking grim. Ghoul is looking out the window, his mouth pressed into a light line around his smoking cigarette. Kobra is looking at the ceiling of the car, and his brother is staring at the road, white knuckles on the wheel. 

"Jesus, you all look depressed." Suicide props his boots up on the dash of the car. "You are going to get your girl, after all, I'd be thrilled. Hell, I  _am_ thrilled." 

"If we get to her," Ghoul mumbles.

"Don't talk like that, Ghoul," Kobra snaps. "That isn't helping." 

"Both of you, shut the fuck up," Poison says, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "And just focus. We can't fuck this up." 

Suicide looks between the three and lets out a low whistle. "And I thought the ritalin rats were the uptight ones." 

"Seriously, Pete? Not helping." Poison pinches the bridge of his nose. 

"I'm just saying," He shrugs and lets his sunglasses fall onto the edge of his nose. "You've got the best fighters in the Zones on this mission, dudes. We got nothing to worry about." 

"But what if she's...not Revolver anymore?" Kobra's brow creases. "We don't know what they did to her." Revolver's screams echo in his head. "Well, we don't know  _everything_ they did to her." 

Suicide shares a look with Kobra. "Oh." 

"I'm going to kill all of them," Poison says evenly. "And it's going to be the best damned thing I've accomplished since this whole damn thing started." 

"I'm in!" Bug cries suddenly. "I can keep it open for a few minutes before someone catches me. Then, I can probably keep the cameras down for another five until they get nasty about it." 

The other cars are already pulling up to the hulking white building. The smell of antiseptic is strong, and the screens that cover the walls flicker with messages from Better Living. 

"God," Ghoul covers his nose and mouth with his elbow, coughing. "That's awful." 

Poison counts heads as everyone piles out of the cars; twenty-seven Killjoys, against hundreds of Dracs. When he mentions this to Mad Gear, Gabe just barks a laugh and pulls his domino mask over his eyes. 

"We could do it with five,  _mi amigo_." His grin glints in the dusking sun. "Are we just going to stand here, or are we going to cause some ruckus?" 

* * *

Revolver's ears are ringing. She can't see, or breathe. Her mouth fills with smoke as she desperately tries to relieve her lungs of the sharp pressure her bent body is causing. She's coughing now, blood colouring her pale lips red. The smoke is causing tears to fill her eyes. And she's sure that it's happening; she's dying. It hurts so much. 

Voices are yelling, but she can't understand them. Everything is muffled by the shrill ringing. She realises she's on her back, and tries to struggle to her side. She can move, barely, and manages to turn herself over. Still coughing, she uses the last bit of her strength to wrench from the leather straps holding her arms to the chair. Smoke is clouding her vision, but she can make out the hole where the door once was. A guard falls through it moments later, dead. She reaches for his knife and forces her fingers to curl around the shaft, yanking it free. 

She can hear the familiar sound of lasers discharging from blasters. Revolver uses the knife to free her ankles, and heaves herself onto her hands and knees. 

"Search every cell!" A voice shouts a distance away. Poison. "Every, single, one! Get everyone you can, and kill everyone in white you see!" 

"Poison," She gasps, clutching her aching ribs. She struggles to her feet, head swimming. She can barely see the floor now, her body threatening to give out on her. She starts a pained walk towards the door. "In here. In-" She struggles to take a breath. "In here. In here. In here. In," She grasps the edge of the smoldering doorframe and shouts, her throat tearing with the effort. " _In here!"_  

Then, there he is. Kobra is speeding down the hall, towards her, and then he's there. His arms are around her, and his face is pressed on top of her head, and she can hear his racing heartbeat through his jacket. He's talking to her, but she can't hear him. Her knees buckle, and Kobra hooks his arms under her to hoist her up. As her head lolls against his shoulder, she looks up at him with watery eyes. He's shouting to somebody else, lasers flying past him. The lights above them are bright, outlining his dusty hair with white. 

Poison is convinced she's dead when he sees her in Kobra's arms, eyes looking blankly upward as her head lolls back. Her skin is near translucent, the effect only magnified by her bleached hair, and her bones are sharper than ever. Still, it's Revolver; Poison knows those eyes when he sees them. When he sees the miniscule rise and fall of her chest, he feels his heart swell. 

"Hi, baby," He says gently when Kobra brings her to him. It's as if the world has stopped, and the only thing he can see is her. "It's all over now. You're okay, yeah?" He strokes her hair, his worn fingers brushing her buzzed head as light as a feather. She only blinks at him, recognition reflecting from his eyes down to hers. 

"Get her to the car, and go. We can finish it up here." Poison looks at his brother, squeezing his shoulder. "Go, Kobra." 

Kobra nods, tightening his grip on Revolver. "You hear that, 'Volver? We're going home, okay? Just hold on." He's looking straight forward as he speaks, eyeing the opened wall (courtesy of Ghoul) a handful of yards away. He starts running as fast as his feet can take him. He catches Suicide's eye, who's in the middle of a fight. Upon seeing the form in Kobra's arms, his face breaks into a grin, and he releases a boyish whoop. 

"That's it, Kobra!" He shouts with glee, firing at two Dracs advancing towards him. "Run like hell, boy!" 

And Kobra does. He runs like hell.


	17. Sober

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song by childish gambino :-)

Happy endings are evasive when the road has been rough. Like catching smoke with your bare hands. 

It would be easy to say she made it home safely. That she made a full recovery, or that her wounds were mended and healed. That as she was passed into Doctor D's waiting arms, her chest was home to a steady heartbeat. 

Kobra had never driven so fast in his life. When he looks back on it later, he'll mention the red line on the speed gauge giving up after he surpasses 120 miles-per-hour. Poison will wonder aloud how the Trans Am even managed to get home. The beloved car would ultimately die in the driveway of the Diner after it delivered its precious cargo. 

Ghoul will wish he could've been there. He'll wish it over his coffee in the morning, and as he brushes his teeth. He'll wish he wasn't too late, that he could've heard her voice one more time. Kobra swears he could feel it when her body gave up on her: They were just pulling in front of the Diner. Kobra had turned in his seat to tell her that they were home,  _she_ was home, when he caught her eye. Her face was bruised and worn, but her eyes were more alert than he had ever seen them. That's when he knew. 

In the radio broadcast the next morning, Doctor Death would tell the Zones that Revolver went down fighting, resilient to the end. This was not true. Revolver was extinguished in a small exhale, almost too quiet for anyone to hear. Kobra felt it as her chest released and dropped for the last time, stilling in his arms. He had removed her from the car and sat on the ground, allowing her broken hands and feet to touch the dirt floors that loved her for ten years. Her fingers had ghosted over the dust for a moment before she leaned into Kobra and exhaled softly. It was only then that he allowed the tears welling in his eyes to fall. He didn't want her to see him cry. 

This is how Doctor D found the pair. He would remark at the funeral how much Revolver looked like a child, cradled in Kobra's arms. How she looked like herself, even amongst the brutal wounds left behind by BL/i. Kobra wouldn't let go of her until Poison and Ghoul had arrived home, with a car full of injuries and blood.

Ghoul had stumbled out of the car, badly bleeding from a slash on his upper thigh, and fallen to his knees beside Kobra. His fingers touched her forehead gently, ghosting over the place where her bangs haphazardly fell. He remembered cutting her hair with office scissors and a knife, because it was all they had. He remembered drinking lukewarm water when they didn't have food, pretending it was soup, and pretending he couldn't hear her stomach rumbling. He remembered her, and he cried. 

Poison looked at her like she was something out of a book, sprung to life from pages littered with words. He couldn't bring himself to touch her. He could only stare, until the acid rising in his throat became too much. As he heaved the contents of his stomach onto the desert floor, he felt like she was watching him. That made him vomit more, until his heaving became choking and his choking became crying. He fell to his knees, face in his hands, weeping openly for the girl he brought home in pieces. 

No one said anything. It was quiet, a ghostly quiet that comes with death. Loss hung over them like a cloud of dust; it clung to their boots and their hair. It was Mad Gear who moved first, his long legs bending at the knees to squat besides Kobra, whose face was soft for a man who had just lost everything. 

"Mikey." The name sounded foreign on his tongue, like that of a language unknown. "We should take her inside. She's gone now, her soul is with the desert. Her body is for us to mourn, but she's gone." 

Kobra recollected her in his arms, feeling her cooling body against her skin. "We're going to burn her," He found his voice somewhere in the back of his throat, gentle and hoarse. "That's what she wanted. At night." 

"We'll do it tomorrow night," Doctor D said, blinking furiously. "We shouldn't wait much longer, because she'll..." He trailed off, but he didn't need to finish. Her body would start to rot. 

The funeral was small. There would be a public mourning, days later, but the burning was for close friends. Family. Her body had been cleaned gently of its blood and dirt by Mad Gear, and she had been redressed in her uniform, which had been collected from the crumbling ruins of BL/i. 

Broken had arrived at their doorstep as Ghoul was fastening the bandana around her pale neck. The knock had startled all of them out of their stupors, and when Poison opened the door, he was so startled that he almost dropped his cup. 

"Hi," Broken's voice was quivering, her almond eyes shining in the light. "I wanted to, um, I wanted to see her before she, before she was burned. I need to see her. Can I," She inhaled sharply, tears dripping down her cheeks against her will. "Can I see her? I loved her. I thought she was going to-" 

"Come back," Poison said, gently. "She did, Broken. She felt the desert around her, and she knew she had to go." 

Broken was crying now, hiccuping around her words. "I loved her. I loved her so much, I thought we were going to be together forever, she, she made me a better person. She didn't deserve this." Poison pulled her into a hug, and she pretended she could smell Revolver on his jacket. 

It wasn't until she had finished crying that she was lead to the body. She took Revolver's hand, running her thumb over the bruises. 

"Patrick," She said, eyes unwavering from Revolver. "He made a shroud for her." To the three Killjoys standing in the door, it looked like she was having a casual conversation with an asleep Revolver. "It's got all of her favourite colours in it, he stayed up all night making it. Baby blue, and orange. But orange like a sunset, not like juice. Like a sunset." She released Revolver's hand and turned to face the three in the doorway. "He'll bring it over tonight." 

Broken wouldn't show up to the funeral though. They never caught who did it; it was just one of those things. Her body was found two days later, blood pooling from a wound in the head. Her makeup was still intact. 

The shroud wrapped her thin body in a sunset over an ocean. It was, without argument, the most beautiful thing to be burned in the Zones in years. Disregarding, of course, what it held. 

Atomic Panic sang as she burned, his angelic voice soft carrying the embers into the sky. He sang an old song, of watermelon smiles and marching drums. It was her favourite song. A gentle wind picked up her ashes and spread her across the desert. The crowd dispersed when the flames died out, leaving a small smoldering pile of ashes. No one wanted to witness what came next. Everyone knew bones don't burn. 

Months passed. Aching hurt less, thinking hurt more. Ghoul sported a thick scar on his thigh, and a deeper one on his heart. Still, even he was able to get up every morning and drink his coffee and watch Poison garden through their window. They had left the Diner behind the day after she died. Too many ghosts, Poison had said. "It belongs to Revolver and Jet now." Kobra had gone to stay with Pete and Patrick. BL/i had fallen, days after Revolver had fallen herself. No one talked about the day it fell, about how Poison had ravaged a drove of draculoids in seconds. The way blood pooled around his boots as he looked at the carnage, and the way his eyes were dead. They just preferred to throw their parties, and ignore the details.

Kobra would find a girl, and fall in love. Her name was Jess. He never found out her Killjoy name; it didn't matter anymore. They married in the backyard of Ghoul and Poison's house, under string lights with bare feet on the young grass underneath them. They would have a child, a miracle in and of itself, ten months later. A girl, with wispy black hair and dark eyes. They'd name her Charlotte, and she'd grow up with a story of a crazy-haired girl named Revolver who ran around the Zones at night, barefoot and bright-eyed. 

It was on a whim that Charlie Way found the Diner, on her evening bike ride. She was freshly thirteen-years old, legs of her father and nose of her mother, when she skidded to a stop in front of a crumbling building. The windows were dusted over, causing her to sneeze as she peered inside. Something inside of her told her to go in, so she shouldered open the door and stumbled into the room that raised her namesake and cultivated her family. There were still cards on the table, faded and dusty from years of unuse. Plants were dead in the windowsill, and a thin layer of sand dusted the floor. She wandered down the hallway, turning at random to open the only closed door in the place. 

A bed lie in the corner, a small pile of books adjacent to it. A pair of boots and a pair of sneakers lie strewn under the bed. As Charlie let her fingers ghost over the accumulated dust, she came to the realization of what this room was. It was, undoubtedly, Revolver's room. Her fingers caught on the corner of something, slicing one open and catching her attention. 

"Shit!" She stuck the bleeding finger in her mouth and looked for the offending object. It was a journal, so stuffed with papers it couldn't clasps shut. She opened it, and photos fell out and littered the floor. Revolver looked up at her, laughing and smiling. She could see her uncles, and dad, younger and dirtier. There was a girl with blue hair with her lips pressed to Revolver's. There were so many people that Charlie had never seen before, most of them with their arms around Revolver as they laughed or grinned. She collected them slowly, as if they would break under her touch. Later, she'd put them in her backpack and take them home. Her father would look at them and tell her stories. He would cry, and she would hug him. But for now, she looked.

The one piled on top was of Revolver and her family. She was seated between a man she knew was Ray, who was dead, and her dad. Poison was obviously trying to get them to sit still, but Revolver looked to be in mid-laugh as Uncle Frank's fingers jabbed into her side. Charlie stared at it, trying to imprint it in her memory. Written on the back, in scrawling, slanted handwriting, was a single sentence. 

"Tomorrow, we shall leave this terrible place, and search for the sunshine." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of thanks are in order, so I won't waste typing space to divulge them all. You know who you are. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking around to see the end of this story, dear friends. This story has carried me through almost four years of my life, and it makes me sad to put it to rest. But it, like Revolver, deserves some time off. Cheers, and goodnight.


End file.
